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Chapter 9

           LilyBriscoehadlookedupatlast,andtherewasMrs.Ramsay,unwittingentirelywhathadcausedherlaughter,stillpresiding,butnowwitheverytraceofwilfulnessabolished,andinitsstead,somethingclearasthespacewhichthecloudsatlastuncoverthelittlespaceofskywhichsleepsbesidethemoon.

           Wasitwisdom?Wasitknowledge?Wasit,oncemore,thedeceptivenessofbeauty,sothatallone’sperceptions,halfwaytotruth,weretangledinagoldenmesh?ordidshelockupwithinhersomesecretwhichcertainlyLilyBriscoebelievedpeoplemusthavefortheworldtogoonatall?Everyonecouldnotbeashelterskelter,handtomouthasshewas.Butiftheyknew,couldtheytellonewhattheyknew?SittingonthefloorwithherarmsroundMrs.Ramsay’sknees,closeasshecouldget,smilingtothinkthatMrs.Ramsaywouldneverknowthereasonofthatpressure,sheimaginedhowinthechambersofthemindandheartofthewomanwhowas,physically,touchingher,werestood,likethetreasuresinthetombsofkings,tabletsbearingsacredinscriptions,whichifonecouldspellthemout,wouldteachoneeverything,buttheywouldneverbeofferedopenly,nevermadepublic.Whatartwasthere,knowntoloveorcunning,bywhichonepressedthroughintothosesecretchambers?Whatdeviceforbecoming,likewaterspouredintoonejar,inextricablythesame,onewiththeobjectoneadored?Couldthebodyachieve,orthemind,subtlyminglingintheintricatepassagesofthebrain?ortheheart?

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