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Chapter 9

           ThehouseseemedfullofchildrensleepingandMrs.Ramsaylistening;shadedlightsandregularbreathing.

           Oh,but,Lilywouldsay,therewasherfather;herhome;even,hadshedaredtosayit,herpainting.Butallthisseemedsolittle,sovirginal,againsttheother.Yet,asthenightworeon,andwhitelightspartedthecurtains,andevennowandthensomebirdchirpedinthegarden,gatheringadesperatecourageshewouldurgeherownexemptionfromtheuniversallaw;pleadforit;shelikedtobealone;shelikedtobeherself;shewasnotmadeforthat;andsohavetomeetaseriousstarefromeyesofunparalleleddepth,andconfrontMrs.Ramsay’ssimplecertainty(andshewaschildlikenow)thatherdearLily,herlittleBrisk,wasafool.Then,sheremembered,shehadlaidherheadonMrs.Ramsay’slapandlaughedandlaughedandlaughed,laughedalmosthystericallyatthethoughtofMrs.Ramsaypresidingwithimmutablecalmoverdestinieswhichshecompletelyfailedtounderstand.Thereshesat,simple,serious.Shehadrecoveredhersenseofhernowthiswastheglove’stwistedfinger.Butintowhatsanctuaryhadonepenetrated?

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