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The excerpt represents the core issue or deciding factor on which you must meditate, and is drawn from To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf: what was the point, she asked, of buying good chairs to let them spoil up
here all through the winter when the house, with only one old woman to see
to it, positively dripped with wet? Never mind, the rent was precisely
twopence half-penny; the children loved it; it did her husband good to be
three thousand, or if she must be accurate, three hundred miles from his
libraries and his lectures and his disciples; and there was room for
visitors. Mats, camp beds, crazy ghosts of chairs and tables whose London
life of service was done--they did well enough here; and a photograph or
two, and books. Books, she thought, grew of themselves. She never had
time to read them. Alas! even the books that had been given her and
inscribed by the hand of the poet himself: "For her whose wishes must be
To the Lighthouse |
