To the Lighthouse

For now she need not think about anybody. She could be herself, by herself. And that waswhat now she often felt the need of—to think; well, not even to think. To be silent; to be alone. Allthe being and the doing, expansive, glittering, vocal, evaporated; and one shrunk, with a senseof solemnity, to being oneself, a wedge-shaped core of darkness, something invisible to others.Although she continued to knit, and sat upright, it was thus that she felt herself; and this selfhaving shed its attachments was free for the strangest adventures.