Women in Love

'You think I'm afraid of you and your cattle, don't you?' she asked.

His eyes narrowed dangerously. There was a faint domineering smile on

his face.

'Why should I think that?' he said.

She was watching him all the time with her dark, dilated, inchoate

eyes. She leaned forward and swung round her arm, catching him a light

blow on the face with the back of her hand.

'That's why,' she said, mocking.

And she felt in her soul an unconquerable desire for deep violence

against him. She shut off the fear and dismay that filled her conscious

mind. She wanted to do as she did, she was not going to be afraid.

He recoiled from the slight blow on his face. He became deadly pale,

and a dangerous flame darkened his eyes. For some seconds he could not

speak, his lungs were so suffused with blood, his heart stretched

almost to bursting with a great gush of ungovernable emotion. It was as

if some reservoir of black emotion had burst within him, and swamped

him.

'You have struck the first blow,' he said at last, forcing the words

from his lungs, in a voice so soft and low, it sounded like a dream

within her, not spoken in the outer air.

'And I shall strike the last,' she retorted involuntarily, with

confident assurance. He was silent, he did not contradict her.

She stood negligently, staring away from him, into the distance. On the

edge of her consciousness the question was asking itself,

automatically: 'Why ARE you behaving in this IMPOSSIBLE and ridiculous fashion.' But

she was sullen, she half shoved the question out of herself. She could

not get it clean away, so she felt self-conscious.

Gerald, very pale, was watching her closely. His eyes were lit up with

intent lights, absorbed and gleaming. She turned suddenly on him.

'It's you who make me behave like this, you know,' she said, almost

suggestive.

'I? How?' he said.

But she turned away, and set off towards the lake. Below, on the water,

lanterns were coming alight, faint ghosts of warm flame floating in the

pallor of the first twilight. The earth was spread with darkness, like

lacquer, overhead was a pale sky, all primrose, and the lake was pale

as milk in one part. Away at the landing stage, tiniest points of

coloured rays were stringing themselves in the dusk. The launch was

being illuminated. All round, shadow was gathering from the trees.

Gerald, white like a presence in his summer clothes, was following down

the open grassy slope. Gudrun waited for him to come up. Then she

softly put out her hand and touched him, saying softly: 'Don't be angry with me.' A flame flew over him, and he was unconscious. Yet he stammered: 'I'm not angry with you. I'm in love with you.' His mind was gone, he grasped for sufficient mechanical control, to

save himself. She laughed a silvery little mockery, yet intolerably

caressive.