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222237wellthenWhat is your opinion of life on the whole, Mr. Carmichael?" she wouldtrying toButsay; so she thought looking at her canvas.She was actually crying - that isto say tears both her eyes were full of somerath hot liquidwhich withoutdisturbing the firmness of her lips, rolled down her cheeks.But she hadperfect control of herself in every other way.But, mostridiculously &annoyingly it was impossible for the moment to paint.weitWhy did they acquiesce in this monstrous state of things?Why don't we do something about it?Are we fish, are we coal? - areorwe things that can be packed in barrels & ?rattled/?salted/?sailed across the worldwithout protest?She had a wild idea that if she & Mr.Carmichael toget got up & made some violent display,the hollow space which the step & the chair & the puppy indicatedwould be vanquished.If they shouted loud enough, Mrs.Ramsay would come back.It was a degrading state to be in, no doubt. Of All extreme states werethat. Of the pain of childbirth a woman had told her that it wasdemoralising. No. So this was demoralising - to wish foranyone so strongly that one's only notion was to stand up &shout. Stop pain, stop pain, stop pain!And It was notmeanwhilelove either; for her feeling towards Mrs. Ramsay was almosthatred - bitter - itOnly at last, one can so f could so separate into parts thisthis bitterness of wanting & this resentment of being madeto want (just asshe was painting too, & marvelling that she did not care astraw for Mrs. Ramsay being dead) & half that yes partly - yesit dawned upon her that her feeling was already finding an anditode(as they used to say dock leaves grew beside nettles) in a abut laterembracing thewhole character& being &world,a sense, first purely physical, but very lively, of theofwhole beauty of that Mrs. Ramsays&beauty,of her serenity, ofthe majesty with whichtaking herway among the dead shehad raised & fitted to herforehead a white flowers in acrown.She had never heard how she had died: only 'suddenly'.But