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Chapter 7

           Fordaysaftershehadheardofherdeathshehadseenherthus,puttingherwreathtoherforeheadandgoingunquestioninglywithhercompanion,ashadeacrossthefields.Thesight,thephrase,haditspowertoconsole.Wherevershehappenedtobe,painting,here,inthecountryorinLondon,thevisionwouldcometoher,andhereyes,halfclosing,soughtsomethingtobasehervisionon.Shelookeddowntherailwaycarriage,theomnibus;tookalinefromshoulderorcheek;lookedatthewindowsopposite;atPiccadilly,lamp-strungintheevening.Allhadbeenpartofthefieldsofdeath.Butalwayssomethingitmightbeaface,avoice,apaperboycryingSTANDARD,NEWSthrustthrough,snubbedher,wakedher,requiredandgotintheendaneffortofattention,sothatthevisionmustbeperpetuallyremade.Nowagain,movedasshewasbysomeinstinctiveneedofdistanceandblue,shelookedatthebaybeneathher,makinghillocksofthebluebarsofthewaves,andstonyfieldsofthepurplerspaces,againshewasrousedasusualbysomethingincongruous.Therewasabrownspotinthemiddleofthebay.Itwasaboat.Yes,sherealisedthatafterasecond.Butwhoseboat?Mr.Ramsay’sboat,shereplied.Mr.Ramsay;themanwhohadmarchedpasther,withhishandraised,aloof,attheheadofaprocession,inhisbeautifulboots,askingherforsympathy,whichshehadrefused.Theboatwasnowhalfwayacrossthebay

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