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Chapter 12

           Butas,justbeforesleep,thingssimplifythemselvessothatonlyoneofallthemyriaddetailshaspowertoassertitself,so,shefelt,lookingdrowsilyattheisland,allthosepathsandterracesandbedroomswerefadinganddisappearing,andnothingwasleftbutapalebluecenserswingingrhythmicallythiswayandthatacrosshermind.Itwasahanginggarden;itwasavalley,fullofbirds,andflowers,andantelopes...Shewasfallingasleep.

           "Comenow,"saidMr.Ramsay,suddenlyshuttinghisbook.

           Comewhere?Towhatextraordinaryadventure?Shewokewithastart.Tolandsomewhere,toclimbsomewhere?Wherewasheleadingthem?Forafterhisimmensesilencethewordsstartledthem.Butitwasabsurd.Hewashungry,hesaid.Itwastimeforlunch.Besides,look,hesaid."There’stheLighthouse.We’realmostthere."

           "He’sdoingverywell,"saidMacalister,praisingJames."He’skeepingherverysteady."

           Buthisfatherneverpraisedhim,Jamesthoughtgrimly.

           Mr.Ramsayopenedtheparcelandsharedoutthesandwichesamongthem.Nowhewashappy,eatingbreadandcheesewiththesefishermen.Hewouldhavelikedtoliveinacottageandloungeaboutintheharbourspittingwiththeotheroldmen,Jamesthought,watchinghimslicehischeeseintothinyellowsheetswithhispenknife.

           Thisisright,thisisit,Camkeptfeeling,asshepeeledherhard-boiledegg.NowshefeltasshedidinthestudywhentheoldmenwerereadingTHETIMES.

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