Women in Love

Inside the church, the wedding was going on. Hermione Roddice was

thinking only of Birkin. He stood near her. She seemed to gravitate

physically towards him. She wanted to stand touching him. She could

hardly be sure he was near her, if she did not touch him. Yet she stood

subjected through the wedding service.

She had suffered so bitterly when he did not come, that still she was

dazed. Still she was gnawed as by a neuralgia, tormented by his

potential absence from her. She had awaited him in a faint delirium of

nervous torture. As she stood bearing herself pensively, the rapt look

on her face, that seemed spiritual, like the angels, but which came

from torture, gave her a certain poignancy that tore his heart with

pity. He saw her bowed head, her rapt face, the face of an almost

demoniacal ecstatic. Feeling him looking, she lifted her face and

sought his eyes, her own beautiful grey eyes flaring him a great

signal. But he avoided her look, she sank her head in torment and

shame, the gnawing at her heart going on. And he too was tortured with

shame, and ultimate dislike, and with acute pity for her, because he

did not want to meet her eyes, he did not want to receive her flare of

recognition.

The bride and bridegroom were married, the party went into the vestry.

Hermione crowded involuntarily up against Birkin, to touch him. And he

endured it.

Outside, Gudrun and Ursula listened for their father's playing on the

organ. He would enjoy playing a wedding march. Now the married pair

were coming! The bells were ringing, making the air shake. Ursula

wondered if the trees and the flowers could feel the vibration, and

what they thought of it, this strange motion in the air. The bride was

quite demure on the arm of the bridegroom, who stared up into the sky

before him, shutting and opening his eyes unconsciously, as if he were

neither here nor there. He looked rather comical, blinking and trying

to be in the scene, when emotionally he was violated by his exposure to

a crowd. He looked a typical naval officer, manly, and up to his duty.

Birkin came with Hermione. She had a rapt, triumphant look, like the

fallen angels restored, yet still subtly demoniacal, now she held

Birkin by the arm. And he was expressionless, neutralised, possessed by

her as if it were his fate, without question.

Gerald Crich came, fair, good-looking, healthy, with a great reserve of

energy. He was erect and complete, there was a strange stealth

glistening through his amiable, almost happy appearance. Gudrun rose

sharply and went away. She could not bear it. She wanted to be alone,

to know this strange, sharp inoculation that had changed the whole

temper of her blood.