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It was about the influence of somebody upon something.
And all thepoverty, all
the suffering had turned to that, Mrs Ramsay thought. Well, said the wife, if
you wont be King, Iwill; go to the Flounder, for I will be King. But all, she
thought, were full of promise.
She knew she was an awfulcoward about bulls, she
said. It was about the influence of somebody upon something.
So they strolled
along, towards the red-hotpokers. In the failing light they all looked
sharp-edged andethereal and divided by great distances.
Hes not a polished
specimen, said Mr Ramsay. At the same time it was immensely exciting. Indeed,
the infernal truth was, he made things worsefor her.
And so she went down and
said to her husband, Whymust they grow up and lose it all? She stoppedknitting;
she held the long reddish-brown stocking dangling in herhands a moment.
But it
had been seen; it had been taken from her.
But she had made no attemptat
likeness, she said. Paul Rayley searchedlike a madman all about the rock where
they had been sitting. But instantly she was annoyed with herself for saying
that. She had been reading fairytales to James, she said.
But the picture was
not of them, she said. She was the most beautifulwoman I ever saw, said Mrs
Ramsay.
He would get up at daybreak and he waspositive he would find it. No one
could accuse her oftaking pains to impress.
Paul Rayley searchedlike a madman
all about the rock where they had been sitting.
Mr Ramsay thought her
foolishfor saying that, about a serious thing, like a scholarship.
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