Hermione’seyes
.
“
You
think
you
will
—
”
But
Ursula
had
got
her
hand
free
.
She
turned
to
Birkin
with
a
quick
,
almost
jeering
:
“
Good-bye
,
”
and
she
was
opening
the
door
before
he
had
time
to
do
it
for
her
.
When
she
got
outside
the
house
she
ran
down
the
road
in
fury
and
agitation
.
It
was
strange
,
the
unreasoning
rage
and
violence
Hermione
roused
in
her
,
by
her
very
presence
.
Ursula
knew
she
gave
herself
away
to
the
other
woman
,
she
knew
she
looked
ill-bred
,
uncouth
,
exaggerated
.
But
she
did
not
care
.
She
only
ran
up
the
road
,
lest
she
should
go
back
and
jeer
in
the
faces
of
the
two
she
had
left
behind
.
For
they
outraged
her
.
CHAPTER
XXIII
.
EXCURSE
Next
day
Birkin
sought
Ursula
out
.
It
happened
to
be
the
half-day
at
the
Grammar
School
.
He
appeared
towards
the
end
of
the
morning
,
and
asked
her
,
would
she
drive
with
him
in
the
afternoon
.
She
consented
.
But
her
face
was
closed
and
unresponding
,
and
his
heart
sank
.
The
afternoon
was
fine
and
dim
.
He
was
driving
the
motor-car
,
and
she
sat
beside
him
.
But
still
her
face
was
closed
against
him
,
unresponding
.
When
she
became
like
this
,
like
a
wall
against
him
,
his
heart
contracted
.
His
life
now
seemed
so
reduced
,
that
he
hardly
cared
any
more
.
At
moments
it
seemed
to
him
he
did
not
care
a
straw
whether
Ursula
or
Hermione
or
anybody
else
existed
or
did
not
exist
.
Why
bother
!
Why
strive
for
a
coherent
,
satisfied
life
?
Why
not
drift
on
in
a
series
of
accidents
—
like
a
picaresque
novel
?
Why
not
?
Why
bother
about
human
relationships
?
Why
take
them
seriously-male
or
female
?
Why
form
any
serious
connections
at
all
?
Why
not
be
casual
,
drifting
along
,
taking
all
for
what
it
was
worth
?
And
yet
,
still
,
he
was
damned
and
doomed
to
the
old
effort
at
serious
living
.
“
Look
,
”
he
said
,
“
what
I
bought
.
”
The
car
was
running
along
a
broad
white
road
,
between
autumn
trees
.
He
gave
her
a
little
bit
of
screwed-up
paper
.
She
took
it
and
opened
it
.
“
How
lovely
,
”
she
cried
.
She
examined
the
gift
.
“
How
perfectly
lovely
!
”
she
cried
again
.
“
But
why
do
you
give
them
me
?
”
She
put
the
question
offensively
.
His
face
flickered
with
bored
irritation
.
He
shrugged
his
shoulders
slightly
.
“
I
wanted
to
,
”
he
said
,
coolly
.
“
But
why
?
Why
should
you
?
”
“
Am
I
called
on
to
find
reasons
?
”
he
asked
.
There
was
a
silence
,
whilst
she
examined
the
rings
that
had
been
screwed
up
in
the
paper
.
“
I
think
they
are
beautiful
,
”
she
said
,
“
especially
this
.
This
is
wonderful
—
”
It
was
a
round
opal
,
red
and
fiery
,
set
in
a
circle
of
tiny
rubies
.
“
You
like
that
best
?
”
he
said
.
“
I
think
I
do
.
”
“
I
like
the
sapphire
,
”
he
said
.
“
This
?
”
It
was
a
rose-shaped
,
beautiful
sapphire
,
with
small
brilliants
.
“
Yes
,
”
she
said
,
“
it
is
lovely
.
”
She
held
it
in
the
light
.
“
Yes
,
perhaps
it
is
the
best
—
”
“
The
blue
—
”
he
said
.
“
Yes
,
wonderful
—
”
He
suddenly
swung
the
car
out
of
the
way
of
a
farm-cart
.
It
tilted
on
the
bank
.
He
was
a
careless
driver
,
yet
very
quick
.
But
Ursula
was
frightened
.
There
was
always
that
something
regardless
in
him
which
terrified
her
.
She
suddenly
felt
he
might
kill
her
,
by
making
some
dreadful
accident
with
the
motor-car
.
For
a
moment
she
was
stony
with
fear
.
“
Isn’t
it
rather
dangerous
,
the
way
you
drive
?
”
she
asked
him
.
“
No
,
it
isn’t
dangerous
,
”
he
said
.
And
then
,
after
a
pause
:
“
Don’t
you
like
the
yellow
ring
at
all
?
”
It
was
a
squarish
topaz
set
in
a
frame
of
steel
,
or
some
other
similar
mineral
,
finely
wrought
.
“
Yes
,
”
she
said
,
“
I
do
like
it
.
But
why
did
you
buy
these
rings
?
”
“
I
wanted
them
.
They
are
second-hand
.
”
“
You
bought
them
for
yourself
?
”
“
No.
Rings
look
wrong
on
my
hands
.
”
“
Why
did
you
buy
them
then
?
”
“
I
bought
them
to
give
to
you
.
”
“
But
why
?
Surely
you
ought
to
give
them
to
Hermione
!
You
belong
to
her
.
”
He
did
not
answer
.
She
remained
with
the
jewels
shut
in
her
hand
.
She
wanted
to
try
them
on
her
fingers
,
but
something
in
her
would
not
let
her
.
And
moreover
,
she
was
afraid
her
hands
were
too
large
,
she
shrank
from
the
mortification
of
a
failure
to
put
them
on
any
but
her
little
finger
.
They
travelled
in
silence
through
the
empty
lanes
.
Driving
in
a
motor-car
excited
her
,
she
forgot
his
presence
even
.
“
Where
are
we
?
”
she
asked
suddenly
.
“
Not
far
from
Worksop
.
”
“
And
where
are
we
going
?
”
“
Anywhere
.
”
It
was
the
answer
she
liked
.
She
opened
her
hand
to
look
at
the
rings
.
They
gave
her
such
pleasure
,
as
they
lay
,
the
three
circles
,
with
their
knotted
jewels
,
entangled
in
her
palm
.
She
would
have
to
try
them
on
.
She
did
so
secretly
,
unwilling
to
let
him
see
,
so
that
he
should
not
know
her
finger
was
too
large
for
them
.
But
he
saw
nevertheless
.
He
always
saw
,
if
she
wanted
him
not
to
.
It
was
another
of
his
hateful
,
watchful
characteristics
.
Only
the
opal
,
with
its
thin
wire
loop
,
would
go
on
her
ring
finger
.
And
she
was
superstitious
.
No
,
there
was
ill-portent
enough
,
she
would
not
accept
this
ring
from
him
in
pledge
.
“
Look
,
”
she
said
,
putting
forward
her
hand
,
that
was
half-closed
and
shrinking
.
“
The
others
don’t
fit
me
.
”
He
looked
at
the
red-glinting
,
soft
stone
,
on
her
over-sensitive
skin
.
“
Yes
,
”
he
said
.
“
But
opals
are
unlucky
,
aren’t
they
?
”
she
said
wistfully
.
“
No.
I
prefer
unlucky
things
.
Luck
is
vulgar
.
Who
wants
what
luck
would
bring
?
I
don’t
.
”
“
But
why
?
”
she
laughed
.
And
,
consumed
with
a
desire
to
see
how
the
other
rings
would
look
on
her
hand
,
she
put
them
on
her
little
finger
.
“
They
can
be
made
a
little
bigger
,
”
he
said
.
“
Yes
,
”
she
replied
,
doubtfully
.
And
she
sighed
.
She
knew
that
,
in
accepting
the
rings
,
she
was
accepting
a
pledge
.
Yet
fate
seemed
more
than
herself
.
She
looked
again
at
the
jewels
.
They
were
very
beautiful
to
her
eyes
—
not
as
ornament
,
or
wealth
,
but
as
tiny
fragments
of
loveliness
.
“
I’m
glad
you
bought
them
,
”
she
said
,
putting
her
hand
,
half
unwillingly
,
gently
on
his
arm
.
He
smiled
,
slightly
.
He
wanted
her
to
come
to
him
.
But
he
was
angry
at
the
bottom
of
his
soul
,
and
indifferent
.
He
knew
she
had
a
passion
for
him
,
really
.
But
it
was
not
finally
interesting
.
There
were
depths
of
passion
when
one
became
impersonal
and
indifferent
,
unemotional
.
Whereas
Ursula
was
still
at
the
emotional
personal
level
—
always
so
abominably
personal
.
He
had
taken
her
as
he
had
never
been
taken
himself
.
He
had
taken
her
at
the
roots
of
her
darkness
and
shame
—
like
a
demon
,
laughing
over
the
fountain
of
mystic
corruption
which
was
one
of
the
sources
of
her
being
,
laughing
,
shrugging
,
accepting
,
accepting
finally
.
As
for
her
,
when
would
she
so
much
go
beyond
herself
as
to
accept
him
at
the
quick
of
death
?
She
now
became
quite
happy
.
The
motor-car
ran
on
,
the
afternoon
was
soft
and
dim
.
She
talked
with
lively
interest
,
analysing
people
and
their
motives
—
Gudrun
,
Gerald
.
He
answered
vaguely
.
He
was
not
very
much
interested
any
more
in
personalities
and
in
people
—
people
were
all
different
,
but
they
were
all
enclosed
nowadays
in
a
definite
limitation
,
he
said
;
there
were
only
about
two
great
ideas
,
two
great
streams
of
activity
remaining
,
with
various
forms
of
reaction
therefrom
.
The
reactions
were
all
varied
in
various
people
,
but
they
followed
a
few
great
laws
,
and
intrinsically
there
was
no
difference
.
They
acted
and
reacted
involuntarily
according
to
a
few
great
laws
,
and
once
the
laws
,
the
great
principles
,
were
known
,
people
were
no
longer
mystically
interesting
.
They
were
all
essentially
alike
,
the
differences
were
only
variations
on
a
theme
.
None
of
them
transcended
the
given
terms
.
Ursula
did
not
agree
—
people
were
still
an
adventure
to
her
—
but
—
perhaps
not
as
much
as
she
tried
to
persuade
herself
.
Perhaps
there
was
something
mechanical
,
now
,
in
her
interest
.
Perhaps
also
her
interest
was
destructive
,
her
analysing
was
a
real
tearing
to
pieces
.
There
was
an
under-space
in
her
where
she
did
not
care
for
people
and
their
idiosyncracies
,
even
to
destroy
them
.
She
seemed
to
touch
for
a
moment
this
undersilence
in
herself
,
she
became
still
,
and
she
turned
for
a
moment
purely
to
Birkin
.
“
Won’t
it
be
lovely
to
go
home
in
the
dark
?
”
she
said
.
“
We
might
have
tea
rather
late
—
shall
we
?
—
and
have
high
tea
?
Wouldn’t
that
be
rather
nice
?
”
“
I
promised
to
be
at
Shortlands
for
dinner
,
”
he
said
.
“
But
—
it
doesn’t
matter
—
you
can
go
tomorrow
—
”
“
Hermione
is
there
,
”
he
said
,
in
rather
an
uneasy
voice
.
“
She
is
going
away
in
two
days
.
I
suppose
I
ought
to
say
good-bye
to
her
.
I
shall
never
see
her
again
.
”
Ursula
drew
away
,
closed
in
a
violent
silence
.
He
knitted
his
brows
,
and
his
eyes
began
to
sparkle
again
in
anger
.
“
You
don’t
mind
,
do
you
?
”
he
asked
irritably
.
“
No
,
I
don’t
care
.
Why
should
I
?
Why
should
I
mind
?
”
Her
tone
was
jeering
and
offensive
.
“
That’s
what
I
ask
myself
,
”
he
said
;
“
why
should
you
mind
!
But
you
seem
to
.
”
His
brows
were
tense
with
violent
irritation
.
“
I
assure
you
I
don’t
,
I
don’t
mind
in
the
least
.
Go
where
you
belong
—
it’s
what
I
want
you
to
do
.
”
“
Ah
you
fool
!
”
he
cried
,
“
with
your
‘go
where
you
belong.’
It’s
finished
between
Hermione
and
me
.
She
means
much
more
to
you
,
if
it
comes
to
that
,
than
she
does
to
me
.
For
you
can
only
revolt
in
pure
reaction
from
her
—
and
to
be
her
opposite
is
to
be
her
counterpart
.
”
“
Ah
,
opposite
!
”
cried
Ursula
.
“
I
know
your
dodges
.
I
am
not
taken
in
by
your
word-twisting
.
You
belong
to
Hermione
and
her
dead
show
.
Well
,
if
you
do
,
you
do
.
I
don’t
blame
you
.
But
then
you’ve
nothing
to
do
with
me
.
In
his
inflamed
,
overwrought
exasperation
,
he
stopped
the
car
,
and
they
sat
there
,
in
the
middle
of
the
country
lane
,
to
have
it
out
.
It
was
a
crisis
of
war
between
them
,
so
they
did
not
see
the
ridiculousness
of
their
situation
.
“
If
you
weren’t
a
fool
,
if
only
you
weren’t
a
fool
,
”
he
cried
in
bitter
despair
,
“
you’d
see
that
one
could
be
decent
,
even
when
one
has
been
wrong
.
I
was
wrong
to
go
on
all
those
years
with
Hermione
—
it
was
a
deathly
process
.
But
after
all
,
one
can
have
a
little
human
decency
.
But
no
,
you
would
tear
my
soul
out
with
your
jealousy
at
the
very
mention
of
Hermione’s
name
.
”
“
I
jealous
!
I
—
jealous
!
You
are
mistaken
if
you
think
that
.
I’m
not
jealous
in
the
least
of
Hermione
,
she
is
nothing
to
me
,
not
that
!
”
And
Ursula
snapped
her
fingers
.
“
No
,
it’s
you
who
are
a
liar
.
It’s
you
who
must
return
,
like
a
dog
to
his
vomit
.
It
is
what
Hermione
stands
for
that
I
hate
.
I
hate
it
.
It
is
lies
,
it
is
false
,
it
is
death
.
But
you
want
it
,
you
can’t
help
it
,
you
can’t
help
yourself
.
You
belong
to
that
old
,
deathly
way
of
living
—
then
go
back
to
it
.
But
don’t
come
to
me
,
for
I’ve
nothing
to
do
with
it
.
”
And
in
the
stress
of
her
violent
emotion
,
she
got
down
from
the
car
and
went
to
the
hedgerow
,
picking
unconsciously
some
flesh-pink
spindleberries
,
some
of
which
were
burst
,
showing
their
orange
seeds
.
“
Ah
,
you
are
a
fool
,
”
he
cried
,
bitterly
,
with
some
contempt
.
“
Yes
,
I
am
.
I
am
a
fool
.
And
thank
God
for
it
.
I’m
too
big
a
fool
to
swallow
your
cleverness
.
God
be
praised
.
You
go
to
your
women
—
go
to
them
—
they
are
your
sort
—
you’ve
always
had
a
string
of
them
trailing
after
you
—
and
you
always
will
.
Go
to
your
spiritual
brides
—
but
don’t
come
to
me
as
well
,
because
I’m
not
having
any
,
thank
you
.
You’re
not
satisfied
,
are
you
?
Your
spiritual
brides
can’t
give
you
what
you
want
,
they
aren’t
common
and
fleshy
enough
for
you
,
aren’t
they
?
So
you
come
to
me
,
and
keep
them
in
the
background
!
You
will
marry
me
for
daily
use
.
But
you’ll
keep
yourself
well
provided
with
spiritual
brides
in
the
background
.
I
know
your
dirty
little
game
.
”
Suddenly
a
flame
ran
over
her
,
and
she
stamped
her
foot
madly
on
the
road
,
and
he
winced
,
afraid
that
she
would
strike
him
.
“
And
I
,
I’m
not
spiritual
enough
,
I’m
not
as
spiritual
as
that
Hermione
—
!
”
Her
brows
knitted
,
her
eyes
blazed
like
a
tiger’s
.
“
Then
go
to
her
,
that’s
all
I
say
,
go
to
her
,
go
.
Ha
,
she
spiritual
—
spiritual
,
she
!
A
dirty
materialist
as
she
is
.
She
spiritual
?
What
does
she
care
for
,
what
is
her
spirituality
?
What
is
it
?
”
Her
fury
seemed
to
blaze
out
and
burn
his
face
.
He
shrank
a
little
.
“
I
tell
you
it’s
dirt
,
dirt
,
and
nothing
but
dirt
.
And
it’s
dirt
you
want
,
you
crave
for
it
.
Spiritual
!
Is
that
spiritual
,
her
bullying
,
her
conceit
,
her
sordid
materialism
?
She’s
a
fishwife
,
a
fishwife
,
she
is
such
a
materialist
.
And
all
so
sordid
.
What
does
she
work
out
to
,
in
the
end
,
with
all
her
social
passion
,
as
you
call
it
.
Social
passion
—
what
social
passion
has
she
?
—
show
it
me
!
—
where
is
it
?
She
wants
petty
,
immediate
power
,
she
wants
the
illusion
that
she
is
a
great
woman
,
that
is
all
.
In
her
soul
she’s
a
devilish
unbeliever
,
common
as
dirt
.
That’s
what
she
is
at
the
bottom
.
And
all
the
rest
is
pretence
—
but
you
love
it
.
You
love
the
sham
spirituality
,
it’s
your
food
.
And
why
?
Because
of
the
dirt
underneath
.
Do
you
think
I
don’t
know
the
foulness
of
your
sex
life
—
and
her’s
?
—
I
do
.
And
it’s
that
foulness
you
want
,
you
liar
.
Then
have
it
,
have
it
.
You’re
such
a
liar
.
”
She
turned
away
,
spasmodically
tearing
the
twigs
of
spindleberry
from
the
hedge
,
and
fastening
them
,
with
vibrating
fingers
,
in
the
bosom
of
her
coat
.
He
stood
watching
in
silence
.
A
wonderful
tenderness
burned
in
him
,
at
the
sight
of
her
quivering
,
so
sensitive
fingers
:
and
at
the
same
time
he
was
full
of
rage
and
callousness
.
“
This
is
a
degrading
exhibition
,
”
he
said
coolly
.
“
Yes
,
degrading
indeed
,
”
she
said
.
“
But
more
to
me
than
to
you
.
”
“
Since
you
choose
to
degrade
yourself
,
”
he
said
.
Again
the
flash
came
over
her
face
,
the
yellow
lights
concentrated
in
her
eyes
.
“
You
!
”
she
cried
.
“
You
!
You
truth-lover
!
You
purity-monger
!
It
stinks
,
your
truth
and
your
purity
.
It
stinks
of
the
offal
you
feed
on
,
you
scavenger
dog
,
you
eater
of
corpses
.
You
are
foul
,
foul
—
and
you
must
know
it
.
Your
purity
,
your
candour
,
your
goodness
—
yes
,
thank
you
,
we’ve
had
some
.
What
you
are
is
a
foul
,
deathly
thing
,
obscene
,
that’s
what
you
are
,
obscene
and
perverse
.
You
,
and
love
!
You
may
well
say
,
you
don’t
want
love
.
No
,
you
want
yourself
,
and
dirt
,
and
death
—
that’s
what
you
want
.
You
are
so
perverse
,
so
death-eating
.
And
then
—
”
“
There’s
a
bicycle
coming
,
”
he
said
,
writhing
under
her
loud
denunciation
.
She
glanced
down
the
road
.
“
I
don’t
care
,
”
she
cried
.
Nevertheless
she
was
silent
.
The
cyclist
,
having
heard
the
voices
raised
in
altercation
,
glanced
curiously
at
the
man
,
and
the
woman
,
and
at
the
standing
motor-car
as
he
passed
.
“
—
Afternoon
,
”
he
said
,
cheerfully
.
“
Good-afternoon
,
”
replied
Birkin
coldly
.
They
were
silent
as
the
man
passed
into
the
distance
.
A
clearer
look
had
come
over
Birkin’s
face
.
He
knew
she
was
in
the
main
right
.
He
knew
he
was
perverse
,
so
spiritual
on
the
one
hand
,
and
in
some
strange
way
,
degraded
,
on
the
other
.
But
was
she
herself
any
better
?
Was
anybody
any
better
?
“
It
may
all
be
true
,
lies
and
stink
and
all
,
”
he
said
.
“
But
Hermione’s
spiritual
intimacy
is
no
rottener
than
your
emotional-jealous
intimacy
.
One
can
preserve
the
decencies
,
even
to
one’s
enemies
:
for
one’s
own
sake
.
Hermione
is
my
enemy
—
to
her
last
breath
!
That’s
why
I
must
bow
her
off
the
field
.
”
“
You
!
You
and
your
enemies
and
your
bows
!
A
pretty
picture
you
make
of
yourself
.
But
it
takes
nobody
in
but
yourself
.
I
jealous
!
I
!
What
I
say
,
”
her
voice
sprang
into
flame
,
“
I
say
because
it
is
true
,
do
you
see
,
because
you
are
you
,
a
foul
and
false
liar
,
a
whited
sepulchre
.
That’s
why
I
say
it
.
And
you
hear
it
.
”
“
And
be
grateful
,
”
he
added
,
with
a
satirical
grimace
.
“
Yes
,
”
she
cried
,
“
and
if
you
have
a
spark
of
decency
in
you
,
be
grateful
.
”
“
Not
having
a
spark
of
decency
,
however
—
”
he
retorted
.
“
No
,
”
she
cried
,
“
you
haven’t
a
spark
.
And
so
you
can
go
your
way
,
and
I’ll
go
mine
.
It’s
no
good
,
not
the
slightest
.
So
you
can
leave
me
now
,
I
don’t
want
to
go
any
further
with
you
—
leave
me
—
”
“
You
don’t
even
know
where
you
are
,
”
he
said
.
“
Oh
,
don’t
bother
,
I
assure
you
I
shall
be
all
right
.
I’ve
got
ten
shillings
in
my
purse
,
and
that
will
take
me
back
from
anywhere
you
have
brought
me
to
.
”
She
hesitated
.
The
rings
were
still
on
her
fingers
,
two
on
her
little
finger
,
one
on
her
ring
finger
.
Still
she
hesitated
.
“
Very
good
,
”
he
said
.
“
The
only
hopeless
thing
is
a
fool
.
”
“
You
are
quite
right
,
”
she
said
.
Still
she
hesitated
.
Then
an
ugly
,
malevolent
look
came
over
her
face
,
she
pulled
the
rings
from
her
fingers
,
and
tossed
them
at
him
.
One
touched
his
face
,
the
others
hit
his
coat
,
and
they
scattered
into
the
mud
.
“
And
take
your
rings
,
”
she
said
,
“
and
go
and
buy
yourself
a
female
elsewhere
—
there
are
plenty
to
be
had
,
who
will
be
quite
glad
to
share
your
spiritual
mess
,
—
or
to
have
your
physical
mess
,
and
leave
your
spiritual
mess
to
Hermione
.
”
With
which
she
walked
away
,
desultorily
,
up
the
road
.
He
stood
motionless
,
watching
her
sullen
,
rather
ugly
walk
.
She
was
sullenly
picking
and
pulling
at
the
twigs
of
the
hedge
as
she
passed
.
She
grew
smaller
,
she
seemed
to
pass
out
of
his
sight
.
A
darkness
came
over
his
mind
.
Only
a
small
,
mechanical
speck
of
consciousness
hovered
near
him
.
He
felt
tired
and
weak
.
Yet
also
he
was
relieved
.
He
gave
up
his
old
position
.
He
went
and
sat
on
the
bank
.
No
doubt
Ursula
was
right
.
It
was
true
,
really
,
what
she
said
.
He
knew
that
his
spirituality
was
concomitant
of
a
process
of
depravity
,
a
sort
of
pleasure
in
self-destruction
.
There
really
was
a
certain
stimulant
in
self-destruction
,
for
him
—
especially
when
it
was
translated
spiritually
.
But
then
he
knew
it
—
he
knew
it
,
and
had
done
.
And
was
not
Ursula’s
way
of
emotional
intimacy
,
emotional
and
physical
,
was
it
not
just
as
dangerous
as
Hermione’s
abstract
spiritual
intimacy
?
Fusion
,
fusion
,
this
horrible
fusion
of
two
beings
,
which
every
woman
and
most
men
insisted
on
,
was
it
not
nauseous
and
horrible
anyhow
,
whether
it
was
a
fusion
of
the
spirit
or
of
the
emotional
body
?
Hermione
saw
herself
as
the
perfect
Idea
,
to
which
all
men
must
come
:
And
Ursula
was
the
perfect
Womb
,
the
bath
of
birth
,
to
which
all
men
must
come
!
And
both
were
horrible
.
Why
could
they
not
remain
individuals
,
limited
by
their
own
limits
?
Why
this
dreadful
all-comprehensiveness
,
this
hateful
tyranny
?
Why
not
leave
the
other
being
,
free
,
why
try
to
absorb
,
or
melt
,
or
merge
?
One
might
abandon
oneself
utterly
to
the
moments
,
but
not
to
any
other
being
.
He
could
not
bear
to
see
the
rings
lying
in
the
pale
mud
of
the
road
.
He
picked
them
up
,
and
wiped
them
unconsciously
on
his
hands
.
They
were
the
little
tokens
of
the
reality
of
beauty
,
the
reality
of
happiness
in
warm
creation
.
But
he
had
made
his
hands
all
dirty
and
gritty
.
There
was
a
darkness
over
his
mind
.
The
terrible
knot
of
consciousness
that
had
persisted
there
like
an
obsession
was
broken
,
gone
,
his
life
was
dissolved
in
darkness
over
his
limbs
and
his
body
.
But
there
was
a
point
of
anxiety
in
his
heart
now
.
He
wanted
her
to
come
back
.
He
breathed
lightly
and
regularly
like
an
infant
,
that
breathes
innocently
,
beyond
the
touch
of
responsibility
.
She
was
coming
back
.
He
saw
her
drifting
desultorily
under
the
high
hedge
,
advancing
towards
him
slowly
.
He
did
not
move
,
he
did
not
look
again
.
He
was
as
if
asleep
,
at
peace
,
slumbering
and
utterly
relaxed
.
She
came
up
and
stood
before
him
,
hanging
her
head
.
“
See
what
a
flower
I
found
you
,
”
she
said
,
wistfully
holding
a
piece
of
purple-red
bell-heather
under
his
face
.
He
saw
the
clump
of
coloured
bells
,
and
the
tree-like
,
tiny
branch
:
also
her
hands
,
with
their
over-fine
,
over-sensitive
skin
.
“
Pretty
!
”
he
said
,
looking
up
at
her
with
a
smile
,
taking
the
flower
.
Everything
had
become
simple
again
,
quite
simple
,
the
complexity
gone
into
nowhere
.
But
he
badly
wanted
to
cry
:
except
that
he
was
weary
and
bored
by
emotion
.
Then
a
hot
passion
of
tenderness
for
her
filled
his
heart
.
He
stood
up
and
looked
into
her
face
.
It
was
new
and
oh
,
so
delicate
in
its
luminous
wonder
and
fear
.
He
put
his
arms
round
her
,
and
she
hid
her
face
on
his
shoulder
.
It
was
peace
,
just
simple
peace
,
as
he
stood
folding
her
quietly
there
on
the
open
lane
.
It
was
peace
at
last
.
The
old
,
detestable
world
of
tension
had
passed
away
at
last
,
his
soul
was
strong
and
at
ease
.
She
looked
up
at
him
.
The
wonderful
yellow
light
in
her
eyes
now
was
soft
and
yielded
,
they
were
at
peace
with
each
other
.
He
kissed
her
,
softly
,
many
,
many
times
.
A
laugh
came
into
her
eyes
.
“
Did
I
abuse
you
?
”
she
asked
.
He
smiled
too
,
and
took
her
hand
,
that
was
so
soft
and
given
.
“
Never
mind
,
”
she
said
,
“
it
is
all
for
the
good
.
”
He
kissed
her
again
,
softly
,
many
times
.
“
Isn’t
it
?
”
she
said
.
“
Certainly
,
”
he
replied
.
“
Wait
!
I
shall
have
my
own
back
.
”
She
laughed
suddenly
,
with
a
wild
catch
in
her
voice
,
and
flung
her
arms
around
him
.
“
You
are
mine
,
my
love
,
aren’t
you
?
”
she
cried
straining
him
close
.
“
Yes
,
”
he
said
,
softly
.
His
voice
was
so
soft
and
final
,
she
went
very
still
,
as
if
under
a
fate
which
had
taken
her
.
Yes
,
she
acquiesced
—
but
it
was
accomplished
without
her
acquiescence
.
He
was
kissing
her
quietly
,
repeatedly
,
with
a
soft
,
still
happiness
that
almost
made
her
heart
stop
beating
.
“
My
love
!
”
she
cried
,
lifting
her
face
and
looking
with
frightened
,
gentle
wonder
of
bliss
.
Was
it
all
real
?
But
his
eyes
were
beautiful
and
soft
and
immune
from
stress
or
excitement
,
beautiful
and
smiling
lightly
to
her
,
smiling
with
her
.
She
hid
her
face
on
his
shoulder
,
hiding
before
him
,
because
he
could
see
her
so
completely
.
She
knew
he
loved
her
,
and
she
was
afraid
,
she
was
in
a
strange
element
,
a
new
heaven
round
about
her
.
She
wished
he
were
passionate
,
because
in
passion
she
was
at
home
.
But
this
was
so
still
and
frail
,
as
space
is
more
frightening
than
force
.
Again
,
quickly
,
she
lifted
her
head
.
“
Do
you
love
me
?
”
she
said
,
quickly
,
impulsively
.
“
Yes
,
”
he
replied
,
not
heeding
her
motion
,
only
her
stillness
.
She
knew
it
was
true
.
She
broke
away
.
“
So
you
ought
,
”
she
said
,
turning
round
to
look
at
the
road
.
“
Did
you
find
the
rings
?
”
“
Yes
.
”
“
Where
are
they
?
”
“
In
my
pocket
.
”
She
put
her
hand
into
his
pocket
and
took
them
out
.
She
was
restless
.
“
Shall
we
go
?
”
she
said
.
“
Yes
,
”
he
answered
.
And
they
mounted
to
the
car
once
more
,
and
left
behind
them
this
memorable
battle-field
.
They
drifted
through
the
wild
,
late
afternoon
,
in
a
beautiful
motion
that
was
smiling
and
transcendent
.
His
mind
was
sweetly
at
ease
,
the
life
flowed
through
him
as
from
some
new
fountain
,
he
was
as
if
born
out
of
the
cramp
of
a
womb
.
“
Are
you
happy
?
”
she
asked
him
,
in
her
strange
,
delighted
way
.
“
Yes
,
”
he
said
.
“
So
am
I
,
”
she
cried
in
sudden
ecstacy
,
putting
her
arm
round
him
and
clutching
him
violently
against
her
,
as
he
steered
the
motor-car
.
“
Don’t
drive
much
more
,
”
she
said
.
“
I
don’t
want
you
to
be
always
doing
something
.
”
“
No
,
”
he
said
.
“
We’ll
finish
this
little
trip
,
and
then
we’ll
be
free
.
”
“
We
will
,
my
love
,
we
will
,
”
she
cried
in
delight
,
kissing
him
as
he
turned
to
her
.
He
drove
on
in
a
strange
new
wakefulness
,
the
tension
of
his
consciousness
broken
.
He
seemed
to
be
conscious
all
over
,
all
his
body
awake
with
a
simple
,
glimmering
awareness
,
as
if
he
had
just
come
awake
,
like
a
thing
that
is
born
,
like
a
bird
when
it
comes
out
of
an
egg
,
into
a
new
universe
.
They
dropped
down
a
long
hill
in
the
dusk
,
and
suddenly
Ursula
recognised
on
her
right
hand
,
below
in
the
hollow
,
the
form
of
Southwell
Minster
.
“
Are
we
here
!
”
she
cried
with
pleasure
.
The
rigid
,
sombre
,
ugly
cathedral
was
settling
under
the
gloom
of
the
coming
night
,
as
they
entered
the
narrow
town
,
the
golden
lights
showed
like
slabs
of
revelation
,
in
the
shop-windows
.
“
Father
came
here
with
mother
,
”
she
said
,
“
when
they
first
knew
each
other
.
He
loves
it
—
he
loves
the
Minster
.
Do
you
?
”
“
Yes
.
It
looks
like
quartz
crystals
sticking
up
out
of
the
dark
hollow
.
We’ll
have
our
high
tea
at
the
Saracen’s
Head
.
”
As
they
descended
,
they
heard
the
Minster
bells
playing
a
hymn
,
when
the
hour
had
struck
six
.
So
,
to
Ursula’s
ear
,
the
tune
fell
out
,
drop
by
drop
,
from
the
unseen
sky
on
to
the
dusky
town
.
It
was
like
dim
,
bygone
centuries
sounding
.
It
was
all
so
far
off
.
She
stood
in
the
old
yard
of
the
inn
,
smelling
of
straw
and
stables
and
petrol
.
Above
,
she
could
see
the
first
stars
.
What
was
it
all
?
This
was
no
actual
world
,
it
was
the
dream-world
of
one’s
childhood
—
a
great
circumscribed
reminiscence
.
The
world
had
become
unreal
.
She
herself
was
a
strange
,
transcendent
reality
.
They
sat
together
in
a
little
parlour
by
the
fire
.
“
Is
it
true
?
”
she
said
,
wondering
.
“
What
?
”
“
Everything
—
is
everything
true
?
”
“
The
best
is
true
,
”
he
said
,
grimacing
at
her
.
“
Is
it
?
”
she
replied
,
laughing
,
but
unassured
.
She
looked
at
him
.
He
seemed
still
so
separate
.
New
eyes
were
opened
in
her
soul
.
She
saw
a
strange
creature
from
another
world
,
in
him
.
It
was
as
if
she
were
enchanted
,
and
everything
were
metamorphosed
.
She
recalled
again
the
old
magic
of
the
Book
of
Genesis
,
where
the
sons
of
God
saw
the
daughters
of
men
,
that
they
were
fair
.
And
he
was
one
of
these
,
one
of
these
strange
creatures
from
the
beyond
,
looking
down
at
her
,
and
seeing
she
was
fair
.
He
stood
on
the
hearth-rug
looking
at
her
,
at
her
face
that
was
upturned
exactly
like
a
flower
,
a
fresh
,
luminous
flower
,
glinting
faintly
golden
with
the
dew
of
the
first
light
.
And
he
was
smiling
faintly
as
if
there
were
no
speech
in
the
world
,
save
the
silent
delight
of
flowers
in
each
other
.
Smilingly
they
delighted
in
each
other’s
presence
,
pure
presence
,
not
to
be
thought
of
,
even
known
.
But
his
eyes
had
a
faintly
ironical
contraction
.
And
she
was
drawn
to
him
strangely
,
as
in
a
spell
.
Kneeling
on
the
hearth-rug
before
him
,
she
put
her
arms
round
his
loins
,
and
put
her
face
against
his
thigh
.
Riches
!
Riches
!
She
was
overwhelmed
with
a
sense
of
a
heavenful
of
riches
.
“
We
love
each
other
,
”
she
said
in
delight
.
“
More
than
that
,
”
he
answered
,
looking
down
at
her
with
his
glimmering
,
easy
face
.
Unconsciously
,
with
her
sensitive
fingertips
,
she
was
tracing
the
back
of
his
thighs
,
following
some
mysterious
life-flow
there
.
She
had
discovered
something
,
something
more
than
wonderful
,
more
wonderful
than
life
itself
.
It
was
the
strange
mystery
of
his
life-motion
,
there
,
at
the
back
of
the
thighs
,
down
the
flanks
.
It
was
a
strange
reality
of
his
being
,
the
very
stuff
of
being
,
there
in
the
straight
downflow
of
the
thighs
.
It
was
here
she
discovered
him
one
of
the
sons
of
God
such
as
were
in
the
beginning
of
the
world
,
not
a
man
,
something
other
,
something
more
.
This
was
release
at
last
.
She
had
had
lovers
,
she
had
known
passion
.
But
this
was
neither
love
nor
passion
.
It
was
the
daughters
of
men
coming
back
to
the
sons
of
God
,
the
strange
inhuman
sons
of
God
who
are
in
the
beginning
.
Her
face
was
now
one
dazzle
of
released
,
golden
light
,
as
she
looked
up
at
him
,
and
laid
her
hands
full
on
his
thighs
,
behind
,
as
he
stood
before
her
.
He
looked
down
at
her
with
a
rich
bright
brow
like
a
diadem
above
his
eyes
.
She
was
beautiful
as
a
new
marvellous
flower
opened
at
his
knees
,
a
paradisal
flower
she
was
,
beyond
womanhood
,
such
a
flower
of
luminousness
.
Yet
something
was
tight
and
unfree
in
him
.
He
did
not
like
this
crouching
,
this
radiance
—
not
altogether
.
It
was
all
achieved
,
for
her
.
She
had
found
one
of
the
sons
of
God
from
the
Beginning
,
and
he
had
found
one
of
the
first
most
luminous
daughters
of
men
.
She
traced
with
her
hands
the
line
of
his
loins
and
thighs
,
at
the
back
,
and
a
living
fire
ran
through
her
,
from
him
,
darkly
.
It
was
a
dark
flood
of
electric
passion
she
released
from
him
,
drew
into
herself
.
She
had
established
a
rich
new
circuit
,
a
new
current
of
passional
electric
energy
,
between
the
two
of
them
,
released
from
the
darkest
poles
of
the
body
and
established
in
perfect
circuit
.
It
was
a
dark
fire
of
electricity
that
rushed
from
him
to
her
,
and
flooded
them
both
with
rich
peace
,
satisfaction
.
“
My
love
,
”
she
cried
,
lifting
her
face
to
him
,
her
eyes
,
her
mouth
open
in
transport
.
“
My
love
,
”
he
answered
,
bending
and
kissing
her
,
always
kissing
her
.
She
closed
her
hands
over
the
full
,
rounded
body
of
his
loins
,
as
he
stooped
over
her
,
she
seemed
to
touch
the
quick
of
the
mystery
of
darkness
that
was
bodily
him
.
She
seemed
to
faint
beneath
,
and
he
seemed
to
faint
,
stooping
over
her
.
It
was
a
perfect
passing
away
for
both
of
them
,
and
at
the
same
time
the
most
intolerable
accession
into
being
,
the
marvellous
fullness
of
immediate
gratification
,
overwhelming
,
out-flooding
from
the
source
of
the
deepest
life-force
,
the
darkest
,
deepest
,
strangest
life-source
of
the
human
body
,
at
the
back
and
base
of
the
loins
.
After
a
lapse
of
stillness
,
after
the
rivers
of
strange
dark
fluid
richness
had
passed
over
her
,
flooding
,
carrying
away
her
mind
and
flooding
down
her
spine
and
down
her
knees
,
past
her
feet
,
a
strange
flood
,
sweeping
away
everything
and
leaving
her
an
essential
new
being
,
she
was
left
quite
free
,
she
was
free
in
complete
ease
,
her
complete
self
.
So
she
rose
,
stilly
and
blithe
,
smiling
at
him
.
He
stood
before
her
,
glimmering
,
so
awfully
real
,
that
her
heart
almost
stopped
beating
.
He
stood
there
in
his
strange
,
whole
body
,
that
had
its
marvellous
fountains
,
like
the
bodies
of
the
sons
of
God
who
were
in
the
beginning
.
There
were
strange
fountains
of
his
body
,
more
mysterious
and
potent
than
any
she
had
imagined
or
known
,
more
satisfying
,
ah
,
finally
,
mystically-physically
satisfying
.
She
had
thought
there
was
no
source
deeper
than
the
phallic
source
.
And
now
,
behold
,
from
the
smitten
rock
of
the
man’s
body
,
from
the
strange
marvellous
flanks
and
thighs
,
deeper
,
further
in
mystery
than
the
phallic
source
,
came
the
floods
of
ineffable
darkness
and
ineffable
riches
.
They
were
glad
,
and
they
could
forget
perfectly
.
They
laughed
,
and
went
to
the
meal
provided
.
There
was
a
venison
pasty
,
of
all
things
,
a
large
broad-faced
cut
ham
,
eggs
and
cresses
and
red
beet-root
,
and
medlars
and
apple-tart
,
and
tea
.
“
What
good
things
!
”
she
cried
with
pleasure
.
“
How
noble
it
looks
!
—
shall
I
pour
out
the
tea
?
—
”
She
was
usually
nervous
and
uncertain
at
performing
these
public
duties
,
such
as
giving
tea
.
But
today
she
forgot
,
she
was
at
her
ease
,
entirely
forgetting
to
have
misgivings
.
The
tea-pot
poured
beautifully
from
a
proud
slender
spout
.
Her
eyes
were
warm
with
smiles
as
she
gave
him
his
tea
.
She
had
learned
at
last
to
be
still
and
perfect
.
“
Everything
is
ours
,
”
she
said
to
him
.
“
Everything
,
”
he
answered
.
She
gave
a
queer
little
crowing
sound
of
triumph
.
“
I’m
so
glad
!
”
she
cried
,
with
unspeakable
relief
.
“
So
am
I
,
”
he
said
.
“
But
I’m
thinking
we’d
better
get
out
of
our
responsibilities
as
quick
as
we
can
.
”
“
What
responsibilities
?
”
she
asked
,
wondering
.
“
We
must
drop
our
jobs
,
like
a
shot
.
”
A
new
understanding
dawned
into
her
face
.
“
Of
course
,
”
she
said
,
“
there’s
that
.
”
“
We
must
get
out
,
”
he
said
.
“
There’s
nothing
for
it
but
to
get
out
,
quick
.
”
She
looked
at
him
doubtfully
across
the
table
.
“
But
where
?
”
she
said
.
“
I
don’t
know
,
”
he
said
.
“
We’ll
just
wander
about
for
a
bit
.
”
Again
she
looked
at
him
quizzically
.
“
I
should
be
perfectly
happy
at
the
Mill
,
”
she
said
.
“
It’s
very
near
the
old
thing
,
”
he
said
.
“
Let
us
wander
a
bit
.
”
His
voice
could
be
so
soft
and
happy-go-lucky
,
it
went
through
her
veins
like
an
exhilaration
.
Nevertheless
she
dreamed
of
a
valley
,
and
wild
gardens
,
and
peace
.
She
had
a
desire
too
for
splendour
—
an
aristocratic
extravagant
splendour
.
Wandering
seemed
to
her
like
restlessness
,
dissatisfaction
.
“
Where
will
you
wander
to
?
”
she
asked
.
“
I
don’t
know
.
I
feel
as
if
I
would
just
meet
you
and
we’d
set
off
—
just
towards
the
distance
.
”
“
But
where
can
one
go
?
”
she
asked
anxiously
.
“
After
all
,
there
is
only
the
world
,
and
none
of
it
is
very
distant
.
”
“
Still
,
”
he
said
,
“
I
should
like
to
go
with
you
—
nowhere
.
It
would
be
rather
wandering
just
to
nowhere
.
That’s
the
place
to
get
to
—
nowhere
.
One
wants
to
wander
away
from
the
world’s
somewheres
,
into
our
own
nowhere
.
”
Still
she
meditated
.
“
You
see
,
my
love
,
”
she
said
,
“
I’m
so
afraid
that
while
we
are
only
people
,
we’ve
got
to
take
the
world
that’s
given
—
because
there
isn’t
any
other
.
”
“
Yes
there
is
,
”
he
said
.
“
There’s
somewhere
where
we
can
be
free
—
somewhere
where
one
needn’t
wear
much
clothes
—
none
even
—
where
one
meets
a
few
people
who
have
gone
through
enough
,
and
can
take
things
for
granted
—
where
you
be
yourself
,
without
bothering
.
There
is
somewhere
—
there
are
one
or
two
people
—
”
“
But
where
—
?
”
she
sighed
.
“
Somewhere
—
anywhere
.
Let’s
wander
off
.
That’s
the
thing
to
do
—
let’s
wander
off
.
”
“
Yes
—
”
she
said
,
thrilled
at
the
thought
of
travel
.
But
to
her
it
was
only
travel
.
“
To
be
free
,
”
he
said
.
“
To
be
free
,
in
a
free
place
,
with
a
few
other
people
!
”
“
Yes
,
”
she
said
wistfully
.
Those
“
few
other
people
”
depressed
her
.
“
It
isn’t
really
a
locality
,
though
,
”
he
said
.
“
It’s
a
perfected
relation
between
you
and
me
,
and
others
—
the
perfect
relation
—
so
that
we
are
free
together
.
”
“
It
is
,
my
love
,
isn’t
it
,
”
she
said
.
“
It’s
you
and
me
.
It’s
you
and
me
,
isn’t
it
?
”
She
stretched
out
her
arms
to
him
.
He
went
across
and
stooped
to
kiss
her
face
.
Her
arms
closed
round
him
again
,
her
hands
spread
upon
his
shoulders
,
moving
slowly
there
,
moving
slowly
on
his
back
,
down
his
back
slowly
,
with
a
strange
recurrent
,
rhythmic
motion
,
yet
moving
slowly
down
,
pressing
mysteriously
over
his
loins
,
over
his
flanks
.
The
sense
of
the
awfulness
of
riches
that
could
never
be
impaired
flooded
her
mind
like
a
swoon
,
a
death
in
most
marvellous
possession
,
mystic-sure
.
She
possessed
him
so
utterly
and
intolerably
,
that
she
herself
lapsed
out
.
And
yet
she
was
only
sitting
still
in
the
chair
,
with
her
hands
pressed
upon
him
,
and
lost
.
Again
he
softly
kissed
her
.
“
We
shall
never
go
apart
again
,
”
he
murmured
quietly
.
And
she
did
not
speak
,
but
only
pressed
her
hands
firmer
down
upon
the
source
of
darkness
in
him
.
They
decided
,
when
they
woke
again
from
the
pure
swoon
,
to
write
their
resignations
from
the
world
of
work
there
and
then
.
She
wanted
this
.
He
rang
the
bell
,
and
ordered
note-paper
without
a
printed
address
.
The
waiter
cleared
the
table
.
“
Now
then
,
”
he
said
,
“
yours
first
.
Put
your
home
address
,
and
the
date
—
then
‘Director
of
Education
,
Town
Hall
—
Sir
—
’
Now
then
!
—
I
don’t
know
how
one
really
stands
—
I
suppose
one
could
get
out
of
it
in
less
than
month
—
Anyhow
‘Sir
—
I
beg
to
resign
my
post
as
classmistress
in
the
Willey
Green
Grammar
School
.
I
should
be
very
grateful
if
you
would
liberate
me
as
soon
as
possible
,
without
waiting
for
the
expiration
of
the
month’s
notice.’
That’ll
do
.
Have
you
got
it
?
Let
me
look
.
‘Ursula
Brangwen.’
Good
!
Now
I’ll
write
mine
.
I
ought
to
give
them
three
months
,
but
I
can
plead
health
.
I
can
arrange
it
all
right
.
”
He
sat
and
wrote
out
his
formal
resignation
.
“
Now
,
”
he
said
,
when
the
envelopes
were
sealed
and
addressed
,
“
shall
we
post
them
here
,
both
together
?
I
know
Jackie
will
say
,
‘Here’s
a
coincidence
!
’
when
he
receives
them
in
all
their
identity
.
Shall
we
let
him
say
it
,
or
not
?
”
“
I
don’t
care
,
”
she
said
.
“
No
—
?
”
he
said
,
pondering
.
“
It
doesn’t
matter
,
does
it
?
”
she
said
.
“
Yes
,
”
he
replied
.
“
Their
imaginations
shall
not
work
on
us
.
I’ll
post
yours
here
,
mine
after
.
I
cannot
be
implicated
in
their
imaginings
.
”
He
looked
at
her
with
his
strange
,
non-human
singleness
.
“
Yes
,
you
are
right
,
”
she
said
.
She
lifted
her
face
to
him
,
all
shining
and
open
.
It
was
as
if
he
might
enter
straight
into
the
source
of
her
radiance
.
His
face
became
a
little
distracted
.
“
Shall
we
go
?
”
he
said
.
“
As
you
like
,
”
she
replied
.
They
were
soon
out
of
the
little
town
,
and
running
through
the
uneven
lanes
of
the
country
.
Ursula
nestled
near
him
,
into
his
constant
warmth
,
and
watched
the
pale-lit
revelation
racing
ahead
,
the
visible
night
.
Sometimes
it
was
a
wide
old
road
,
with
grass-spaces
on
either
side
,
flying
magic
and
elfin
in
the
greenish
illumination
,
sometimes
it
was
trees
looming
overhead
,
sometimes
it
was
bramble
bushes
,
sometimes
the
walls
of
a
crew-yard
and
the
butt
of
a
barn
.
“
Are
you
going
to
Shortlands
to
dinner
?
”
Ursula
asked
him
suddenly
.
He
started
.
“
Good
God
!
”
he
said
.
“
Shortlands
!
Never
again
.
Not
that
.
Besides
we
should
be
too
late
.
”
“
Where
are
we
going
then
—
to
the
Mill
?
”
“
If
you
like
.
Pity
to
go
anywhere
on
this
good
dark
night
.
Pity
to
come
out
of
it
,
really
.
Pity
we
can’t
stop
in
the
good
darkness
.
It
is
better
than
anything
ever
would
be
—
this
good
immediate
darkness
.
”
She
sat
wondering
.
The
car
lurched
and
swayed
.
She
knew
there
was
no
leaving
him
,
the
darkness
held
them
both
and
contained
them
,
it
was
not
to
be
surpassed
.
Besides
she
had
a
full
mystic
knowledge
of
his
suave
loins
of
darkness
,
dark-clad
and
suave
,
and
in
this
knowledge
there
was
some
of
the
inevitability
and
the
beauty
of
fate
,
fate
which
one
asks
for
,
which
one
accepts
in
full
.
He
sat
still
like
an
Egyptian
Pharoah
,
driving
the
car
.
He
felt
as
if
he
were
seated
in
immemorial
potency
,
like
the
great
carven
statues
of
real
Egypt
,
as
real
and
as
fulfilled
with
subtle
strength
,
as
these
are
,
with
a
vague
inscrutable
smile
on
the
lips
.
He
knew
what
it
was
to
have
the
strange
and
magical
current
of
force
in
his
back
and
loins
,
and
down
his
legs
,
force
so
perfect
that
it
stayed
him
immobile
,
and
left
his
face
subtly
,
mindlessly
smiling
.
He
knew
what
it
was
to
be
awake
and
potent
in
that
other
basic
mind
,
the
deepest
physical
mind
.
And
from
this
source
he
had
a
pure
and
magic
control
,
magical
,
mystical
,
a
force
in
darkness
,
like
electricity
.
It
was
very
difficult
to
speak
,
it
was
so
perfect
to
sit
in
this
pure
living
silence
,
subtle
,
full
of
unthinkable
knowledge
and
unthinkable
force
,
upheld
immemorially
in
timeless
force
,
like
the
immobile
,
supremely
potent
Egyptians
,
seated
forever
in
their
living
,
subtle
silence
.
“
We
need
not
go
home
,
”
he
said
.
“
This
car
has
seats
that
let
down
and
make
a
bed
,
and
we
can
lift
the
hood
.
”
She
was
glad
and
frightened
.
She
cowered
near
to
him
.
“
But
what
about
them
at
home
?
”
she
said
.
“
Send
a
telegram
.
”
Nothing
more
was
said
.
They
ran
on
in
silence
.
But
with
a
sort
of
second
consciousness
he
steered
the
car
towards
a
destination
.
For
he
had
the
free
intelligence
to
direct
his
own
ends
.
His
arms
and
his
breast
and
his
head
were
rounded
and
living
like
those
of
the
Greek
,
he
had
not
the
unawakened
straight
arms
of
the
Egyptian
,
nor
the
sealed
,
slumbering
head
.
A
lambent
intelligence
played
secondarily
above
his
pure
Egyptian
concentration
in
darkness
.
They
came
to
a
village
that
lined
along
the
road
.
The
car
crept
slowly
along
,
until
he
saw
the
post-office
.
Then
he
pulled
up
.
“
I
will
send
a
telegram
to
your
father
,
”
he
said
.
“
I
will
merely
say
‘spending
the
night
in
town
,
’
shall
I
?
”
“
Yes
,
”
she
answered
.
She
did
not
want
to
be
disturbed
into
taking
thought
.
She
watched
him
move
into
the
post-office
.
It
was
also
a
shop
,
she
saw
.
Strange
,
he
was
.
Even
as
he
went
into
the
lighted
,
public
place
he
remained
dark
and
magic
,
the
living
silence
seemed
the
body
of
reality
in
him
,
subtle
,
potent
,
indiscoverable
.
There
he
was
!
In
a
strange
uplift
of
elation
she
saw
him
,
the
being
never
to
be
revealed
,
awful
in
its
potency
,
mystic
and
real
.
This
dark
,
subtle
reality
of
him
,
never
to
be
translated
,
liberated
her
into
perfection
,
her
own
perfected
being
.
She
too
was
dark
and
fulfilled
in
silence
.
He
came
out
,
throwing
some
packages
into
the
car
.
“
There
is
some
bread
,
and
cheese
,
and
raisins
,
and
apples
,
and
hard
chocolate
,
”
he
said
,
in
his
voice
that
was
as
if
laughing
,
because
of
the
unblemished
stillness
and
force
which
was
the
reality
in
him
.
She
would
have
to
touch
him
.
To
speak
,
to
see
,
was
nothing
.
It
was
a
travesty
to
look
and
to
comprehend
the
man
there
.
Darkness
and
silence
must
fall
perfectly
on
her
,
then
she
could
know
mystically
,
in
unrevealed
touch
.
She
must
lightly
,
mindlessly
connect
with
him
,
have
the
knowledge
which
is
death
of
knowledge
,
the
reality
of
surety
in
not-knowing
.
Soon
they
had
run
on
again
into
the
darkness
.
She
did
not
ask
where
they
were
going
,
she
did
not
care
.
She
sat
in
a
fullness
and
a
pure
potency
that
was
like
apathy
,
mindless
and
immobile
.
She
was
next
to
him
,
and
hung
in
a
pure
rest
,
as
a
star
is
hung
,
balanced
unthinkably
.
Still
there
remained
a
dark
lambency
of
anticipation
.
She
would
touch
him
.
With
perfect
fine
finger-tips
of
reality
she
would
touch
the
reality
in
him
,
the
suave
,
pure
,
untranslatable
reality
of
his
loins
of
darkness
.
To
touch
,
mindlessly
in
darkness
to
come
in
pure
touching
upon
the
living
reality
of
him
,
his
suave
perfect
loins
and
thighs
of
darkness
,
this
was
her
sustaining
anticipation
.
And
he
too
waited
in
the
magical
steadfastness
of
suspense
,
for
her
to
take
this
knowledge
of
him
as
he
had
taken
it
of
her
.
He
knew
her
darkly
,
with
the
fullness
of
dark
knowledge
.
Now
she
would
know
him
,
and
he
too
would
be
liberated
.
He
would
be
night-free
,
like
an
Egyptian
,
steadfast
in
perfectly
suspended
equilibrium
,
pure
mystic
nodality
of
physical
being
.
They
would
give
each
other
this
star-equilibrium
which
alone
is
freedom
.
She
saw
that
they
were
running
among
trees
—
great
old
trees
with
dying
bracken
undergrowth
.
The
palish
,
gnarled
trunks
showed
ghostly
,
and
like
old
priests
in
the
hovering
distance
,
the
fern
rose
magical
and
mysterious
.
It
was
a
night
all
darkness
,
with
low
cloud
.
The
motor-car
advanced
slowly
.
“
Where
are
we
?
”
she
whispered
.
“
In
Sherwood
Forest
.
”
It
was
evident
he
knew
the
place
.
He
drove
softly
,
watching
.
Then
they
came
to
a
green
road
between
the
trees
.
They
turned
cautiously
round
,
and
were
advancing
between
the
oaks
of
the
forest
,
down
a
green
lane
.
The
green
lane
widened
into
a
little
circle
of
grass
,
where
there
was
a
small
trickle
of
water
at
the
bottom
of
a
sloping
bank
.
The
car
stopped
.
“
We
will
stay
here
,
”
he
said
,
“
and
put
out
the
lights
.
”
He
extinguished
the
lamps
at
once
,
and
it
was
pure
night
,
with
shadows
of
trees
like
realities
of
other
,
nightly
being
.
He
threw
a
rug
on
to
the
bracken
,
and
they
sat
in
stillness
and
mindless
silence
.
There
were
faint
sounds
from
the
wood
,
but
no
disturbance
,
no
possible
disturbance
,
the
world
was
under
a
strange
ban
,
a
new
mystery
had
supervened
.
They
threw
off
their
clothes
,
and
he
gathered
her
to
him
,
and
found
her
,
found
the
pure
lambent
reality
of
her
forever
invisible
flesh
.
Quenched
,
inhuman
,
his
fingers
upon
her
unrevealed
nudity
were
the
fingers
of
silence
upon
silence
,
the
body
of
mysterious
night
upon
the
body
of
mysterious
night
,
the
night
masculine
and
feminine
,
never
to
be
seen
with
the
eye
,
or
known
with
the
mind
,
only
known
as
a
palpable
revelation
of
living
otherness
.
She
had
her
desire
of
him
,
she
touched
,
she
received
the
maximum
of
unspeakable
communication
in
touch
,
dark
,
subtle
,
positively
silent
,
a
magnificent
gift
and
give
again
,
a
perfect
acceptance
and
yielding
,
a
mystery
,
the
reality
of
that
which
can
never
be
known
,
vital
,
sensual
reality
that
can
never
be
transmuted
into
mind
content
,
but
remains
outside
,
living
body
of
darkness
and
silence
and
subtlety
,
the
mystic
body
of
reality
.
She
had
her
desire
fulfilled
.
He
had
his
desire
fulfilled
.
For
she
was
to
him
what
he
was
to
her
,
the
immemorial
magnificence
of
mystic
,
palpable
,
real
otherness
.
They
slept
the
chilly
night
through
under
the
hood
of
the
car
,
a
night
of
unbroken
sleep
.
It
was
already
high
day
when
he
awoke
.
They
looked
at
each
other
and
laughed
,
then
looked
away
,
filled
with
darkness
and
secrecy
.
Then
they
kissed
and
remembered
the
magnificence
of
the
night
.
It
was
so
magnificent
,
such
an
inheritance
of
a
universe
of
dark
reality
,
that
they
were
afraid
to
seem
to
remember
.
They
hid
away
the
remembrance
and
the
knowledge
.
CHAPTER
XXIV
.
DEATH
AND
LOVE
Thomas
Crich
died
slowly
,
terribly
slowly
.
It
seemed
impossible
to
everybody
that
the
thread
of
life
could
be
drawn
out
so
thin
,
and
yet
not
break
.
The
sick
man
lay
unutterably
weak
and
spent
,
kept
alive
by
morphia
and
by
drinks
,
which
he
sipped
slowly
.
He
was
only
half
conscious
—
a
thin
strand
of
consciousness
linking
the
darkness
of
death
with
the
light
of
day
.
Yet
his
will
was
unbroken
,
he
was
integral
,
complete
.
Only
he
must
have
perfect
stillness
about
him
.
Any
presence
but
that
of
the
nurses
was
a
strain
and
an
effort
to
him
now
.
Every
morning
Gerald
went
into
the
room
,
hoping
to
find
his
father
passed
away
at
last
.
Yet
always
he
saw
the
same
transparent
face
,
the
same
dread
dark
hair
on
the
waxen
forehead
,
and
the
awful
,
inchoate
dark
eyes
,
which
seemed
to
be
decomposing
into
formless
darkness
,
having
only
a
tiny
grain
of
vision
within
them
.
And
always
,
as
the
dark
,
inchoate
eyes
turned
to
him
,
there
passed
through
Gerald’s
bowels
a
burning
stroke
of
revolt
,
that
seemed
to
resound
through
his
whole
being
,
threatening
to
break
his
mind
with
its
clangour
,
and
making
him
mad
.
Every
morning
,
the
son
stood
there
,
erect
and
taut
with
life
,
gleaming
in
his
blondness
.
The
gleaming
blondness
of
his
strange
,
imminent
being
put
the
father
into
a
fever
of
fretful
irritation
.
He
could
not
bear
to
meet
the
uncanny
,
downward
look
