TO   THE   LIGHTHOUSE
ordinary temptation.     Her father was feeling in
his pockets;   in another second, he would have
found his book.   For no one attracted her more;
his hands were beautiful to her and his feet, and
his voice, and his words, and his haste, and his
temper, and his oddity, and his passion, and his
saying straight out before every one, we perish,
each alone, and his remoteness.   (He had opened
his book.)    But what remained intolerable, she
thought, sitting upright, and watching Macalister's
boy tug the hook out of the gills of another fish,
was that crass blindness and tyranny of his which
had poisoned her childhood  and  raised  bitter
storms, so that even now she woke in the night
trembling   with   rage   and   remembered   some
command of his;   some insolence:   "Do this",
"Do that"; his dominance: his "Submitto me".
So she said nothing, but looked doggedly and
sadly at the shore, wrapped in its mantle of peace;
as  if the  people  there  had  fallen  asleep,   she
thought; were free like smoke, were free to come
and go like ghosts.   They have no suffering there,
she thought.
Yes, that is their boat, Lily Briscoe decided,
standing on the edge of the lawn. It was the boat
with greyish-brown sails, which she saw now
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