Chapter 12

           Mr.Ramsayhadalmostdonereading.Onehandhoveredoverthepageasiftobeinreadinesstoturnittheveryinstanthehadfinishedit.Hesattherebareheadedwiththewindblowinghishairabout,extraordinarilyexposedtoeverything.Helookedveryold.Helooked,Jamesthought,gettinghisheadnowagainsttheLighthouse,nowagainstthewasteofwatersrunningawayintotheopen,likesomeoldstonelyingonthesand;helookedasifhehadbecomephysicallywhatwasalwaysatthebackofbothoftheirmindsthatlonelinesswhichwasforbothofthemthetruthaboutthings.

           Hewasreadingveryquickly,asifhewereeagertogettotheend.IndeedtheywereveryclosetotheLighthousenow.Thereitloomedup,starkandstraight,glaringwhiteandblack,andonecouldseethewavesbreakinginwhitesplinterslikesmashedglassupontherocks.Onecouldseelinesandcreasesintherocks.Onecouldseethewindowsclearly;adabofwhiteononeofthem,andalittletuftofgreenontherock.Amanhadcomeoutandlookedatthemthroughaglassandgoneinagain.Soitwaslikethat,Jamesthought,theLighthouseonehadseenacrossthebayalltheseyears;itwasastarktoweronabarerock.Itsatisfiedhim.Itconfirmedsomeobscurefeelingofhisabouthisowncharacter.Theoldladies,hethought,thinkingofthegardenathome,wentdraggingtheirchairsaboutonthelawn.

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