Women in Love

After the fiasco of the proposal, Birkin had hurried blindly away from

Beldover, in a whirl of fury. He felt he had been a complete fool, that

the whole scene had been a farce of the first water. But that did not

trouble him at all. He was deeply, mockingly angry that Ursula

persisted always in this old cry: 'Why do you want to bully me?' and in

her bright, insolent abstraction.

He went straight to Shortlands. There he found Gerald standing with his

back to the fire, in the library, as motionless as a man is, who is

completely and emptily restless, utterly hollow. He had done all the

work he wanted to do--and now there was nothing. He could go out in the

car, he could run to town. But he did not want to go out in the car, he

did not want to run to town, he did not want to call on the Thirlbys.

He was suspended motionless, in an agony of inertia, like a machine

that is without power.

This was very bitter to Gerald, who had never known what boredom was,

who had gone from activity to activity, never at a loss. Now,

gradually, everything seemed to be stopping in him. He did not want any

more to do the things that offered. Something dead within him just

refused to respond to any suggestion. He cast over in his mind, what it

would be possible to do, to save himself from this misery of

nothingness, relieve the stress of this hollowness. And there were only

three things left, that would rouse him, make him live. One was to

drink or smoke hashish, the other was to be soothed by Birkin, and the

third was women. And there was no-one for the moment to drink with. Nor

was there a woman. And he knew Birkin was out. So there was nothing to

do but to bear the stress of his own emptiness.

When he saw Birkin his face lit up in a sudden, wonderful smile.

'By God, Rupert,' he said, 'I'd just come to the conclusion that

nothing in the world mattered except somebody to take the edge off

one's being alone: the right somebody.' The smile in his eyes was very astonishing, as he looked at the other

man. It was the pure gleam of relief. His face was pallid and even

haggard.

'The right woman, I suppose you mean,' said Birkin spitefully.

'Of course, for choice. Failing that, an amusing man.' He laughed as he said it. Birkin sat down near the fire.

'What were you doing?' he asked.