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           Itwasawonderfulnight,starlit;thewavessoundedastheywentupstairs;themoonsurprisedthem,enormous,pale,astheypassedthestaircasewindow.Shehadsleptatonce.

           Shesethercleancanvasfirmlyupontheeasel,asabarrier,frail,butshehopedsufficientlysubstantialtowardoffMr.Ramsayandhisexactingness.Shedidherbesttolook,whenhisbackwasturned,atherpicture;thatlinethere,thatmassthere.Butitwasoutofthequestion.Lethimbefiftyfeetaway,lethimnotevenspeaktoyou,lethimnotevenseeyou,hepermeated,heprevailed,heimposedhimself.Hechangedeverything.Shecouldnotseethecolour;shecouldnotseethelines;evenwithhisbackturnedtoher,shecouldonlythink,Buthe’llbedownonmeinamoment,demanding—somethingshefeltshecouldnotgivehim.Sherejectedonebrush;shechoseanother.Whenwouldthosechildrencome?Whenwouldtheyallbeoff?shefidgeted.Thatman,shethought,herangerrisinginher,nevergave;thatmantook.She,ontheotherhand,wouldbeforcedtogive.Mrs.Ramsayhadgiven.Giving,giving,giving,shehaddied—andhadleftallthis.Really,shewasangrywithMrs.Ramsay.Withthebrushslightlytremblinginherfingersshelookedatthehedge,thestep,thewall.ItwasallMrs.Ramsay’sdoing.Shewasdead.HerewasLily,atforty-four,wastinghertime,unabletodoathing,standingthere,playingatpainting,playingattheonethingonedidnotplayat,anditwasallMrs.Ramsay’sfault.Shewasdead.Thestepwheresheusedtositwasempty