Women in Love

'It's mad,' said Gudrun. 'It is most decidedly mad.' He laughed.

'The question is,' he said, 'what is madness? I don't suppose it is

rabbit-mad.' 'Don't you think it is?' she asked.

'No. That's what it is to be a rabbit.' There was a queer, faint, obscene smile over his face. She looked at

him and saw him, and knew that he was initiate as she was initiate.

This thwarted her, and contravened her, for the moment.

'God be praised we aren't rabbits,' she said, in a high, shrill voice.

The smile intensified a little, on his face.

'Not rabbits?' he said, looking at her fixedly.

Slowly her face relaxed into a smile of obscene recognition.

'Ah Gerald,' she said, in a strong, slow, almost man-like way. '-All

that, and more.' Her eyes looked up at him with shocking nonchalance.

He felt again as if she had torn him across the breast, dully, finally.

He turned aside.

'Eat, eat my darling!' Winifred was softly conjuring the rabbit, and

creeping forward to touch it. It hobbled away from her. 'Let its mother

stroke its fur then, darling, because it is so mysterious-'