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Updated: June 20, 2025
He wondered if he himself were freezing too, freezing from the inside. In the short blond moustache the life-breath was frozen into a block of ice, beneath the silent nostrils. And this was Gerald! Again he touched the sharp, almost glittering fair hair of the frozen body. It was icy-cold, hair icy-cold, almost venomous. Birkin's heart began to freeze. He had loved Gerald.
He could not quite make him out. 'So much the worse, is it? he repeated. There was a silence between the two men for some time, as the train ran on. In Birkin's face was a little irritable tension, a sharp knitting of the brows, keen and difficult. Gerald watched him warily, carefully, rather calculatingly, for he could not decide what he was after.
'I'm sure she has, said Birkin, which caused a perilous full-stop. The father was becoming exasperated. There was something naturally irritant to him in Birkin's mere presence. 'And I don't want to see her going back on it all, he said, in a clanging voice. 'Why? said Birkin. This monosyllable exploded in Brangwen's brain like a shot. 'Why!
It startled him, because he thought he had withdrawn. He recovered himself, and sat up. But he was still vague and unestablished. He put out his hand to steady himself. It touched the hand of Gerald, that was lying out on the floor. And Gerald's hand closed warm and sudden over Birkin's, they remained exhausted and breathless, the one hand clasped closely over the other.
She hated him in a despair that shattered her and broke her down, so that she suffered sheer dissolution like a corpse, and was unconscious of everything save the horrible sickness of dissolution that was taking place within her, body and soul. The house being full, Gerald was given the smaller room, really the dressing-room, communicating with Birkin's bedroom.
She darkened, her soul clouded over, she turned aside. She had been driven out of her own radiant, single world. And she dreaded contact, it was almost unnatural to her at these times. 'Yes, she said vaguely, in a doubting, absent voice. Birkin's heart contracted swiftly, in a sudden fire of bitterness. It all meant nothing to her. He had been mistaken again.
'I want to go, said Gudrun to Gerald, as she signalled the waiter. Her eyes were flashing, her cheeks were flushed. The strange effect of Birkin's letter read aloud in a perfect clerical sing-song, clear and resonant, phrase by phrase, made the blood mount into her head as if she were mad. She rose, whilst Gerald was paying the bill, and walked over to Halliday's table.
The man saluted. They were in motion. 'What was all the row about? asked Gerald, in wondering excitement. 'I walked away with Birkin's letter, she said, and he saw the crushed paper in her hand. His eyes glittered with satisfaction. 'Ah! he said. 'Splendid! A set of jackasses! 'I could have KILLED them! she cried in passion. 'DOGS! they are dogs!
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