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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