|
The excerpt represents the core issue or deciding factor on which you must meditate, and is drawn from To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf: wood that creaked, the bare legs of tables, saucepans and china already
furred, tarnished, cracked. What people had shed and left--a pair of
shoes, a shooting cap, some faded skirts and coats in wardrobes--those
alone kept the human shape and in the emptiness indicated how once they
were filled and animated; how once hands were busy with hooks and
buttons; how once the looking-glass had held a face; had held a world
hollowed out in which a figure turned, a hand flashed, the door opened,
in came children rushing and tumbling; and went out again. Now, day
after day, light turned, like a flower reflected in water, its sharp
image on the wall opposite. Only the shadows of the trees, flourishing
in the wind, made obeisance on the wall, and for a moment darkened the
To the Lighthouse |
