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THE WINDOW 63more firmly than was necessary, and the nickseemed to surround in a circle for ever the paint-box,the lawn, Mr Bankes, and that wild villain, Cam,dashing past.10

For Cam grazed the easel by an inch; she wouldnot stop for Mr Bankes and Lily Briscoe; thoughMr Bankes, who would have liked a daughter of hisown, held out his hand; she would not stop for herfather, whom she grazed also by an inch; nor for hermother, who called ‘Cam! I want you a moment!’ asshe dashed past. She was off like a bird, bullet, orarrow, impelled by what desire, shot by whom, atwhat directed, who could say? What, what? MrsRamsay pondered, watching her. It might be avision—of a shell, of a wheelbarrow, of a fairy king-dom the far side of the hedge; or it might be theglory of speed; no one knew. But when Mrs Ramsaycalled 'Cam!’ a second time, the projectile droppedin mid career, and Cam came lagging back, pullinga leaf by the way, to her mother.

What was she dreaming about, Mrs Ramsay won-dered, seeing her engrossed, as she stood there, withsome thought of her own, so that she had to repeatthe message twice—ask Mildred if Andrew, MissDoyle, and Mr Rayley have come back?—The wordsseemed to be dropped into a well, where, if the waterswere clear, they were also so extraordinarily dis-torting that, even as they descended, one saw themtwisting about to make Heaven knows what patternon the floor of the child’s mind. What messagewould Cam give the cook? Mrs Ramsay wondered.