All was silence. Nobody seemed yet to be stirring in the house. She looked at it there sleeping in the early sunlight with its windows green and blue with the reflected leaves. The faint thought she was thinking of Mrs. Ramsay seemed in consonance with this quiet house; this smoke; this fine early morning air. Faint and unreal, it was amazingly pure and exciting. She hoped nobody would open the window or come out the house, but that she might be left alone to go on thinking, to go on painting.
Todo era silencio. Nadie se movía en la casa. La contempló, ahí, dormida, en la luz temprana, con el reflejo verde y azul de las hojas en las vidrieras. El leve recuerdo que dedicaba a mistress Ramsay estaba en consonancia con esta casa tranquila, este humo, y esta fina brisa matinal. Todo era sutil e impalpable, pero de una gran fuerza de incitación. Abrigó la esperanza de que no abriría nadie una ventana, ni saldría de la casa, y la dejarían sola para poder seguir pensando y pintando.
«To the Lighthouse»
«Al faro»
Virginia Woolf
