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Chapter 8

           Something,heremembered,stayedflourishedupintheair,somethingaridandsharpdescendedeventhere,likeablade,ascimitar,smitingthroughtheleavesandflowersevenofthathappyworldandmakingitshrivelandfall.

           "Itwillrain,"herememberedhisfathersaying."Youwon’tbeabletogototheLighthouse."

           TheLighthousewasthenasilvery,misty-lookingtowerwithayelloweye,thatopenedsuddenly,andsoftlyintheevening.Now

           JameslookedattheLighthouse.Hecouldseethewhite-washedrocks;thetower,starkandstraight;hecouldseethatitwasbarredwithblackandwhite;hecouldseewindowsinit;hecouldevenseewashingspreadontherockstodry.SothatwastheLighthouse,wasit?

           No,theotherwasalsotheLighthouse.Fornothingwassimplyonething.TheotherLighthousewastruetoo.Itwassometimeshardlytobeseenacrossthebay.Intheeveningonelookedupandsawtheeyeopeningandshuttingandthelightseemedtoreachtheminthatairysunnygardenwheretheysat.

           Buthepulledhimselfup.Wheneverhesaid"they"or"aperson,"andthenbeganhearingtherustleofsomeonecoming,thetinkleofsomeonegoing,hebecameextremelysensitivetothepresenceofwhoevermightbeintheroom.Itwashisfathernow.Thestrainwasacute.

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