Women in Love

'I? Nothing. I'm in a bad way just now, everything's on edge, and I can

neither work nor play. I don't know whether it's a sign of old age, I'm

sure.' 'You mean you are bored?' 'Bored, I don't know. I can't apply myself. And I feel the devil is

either very present inside me, or dead.' Birkin glanced up and looked in his eyes.

'You should try hitting something,' he said.

Gerald smiled.

'Perhaps,' he said. 'So long as it was something worth hitting.' 'Quite!' said Birkin, in his soft voice. There was a long pause during

which each could feel the presence of the other.

'One has to wait,' said Birkin.

'Ah God! Waiting! What are we waiting for?' 'Some old Johnny says there are three cures for ENNUI, sleep, drink,

and travel,' said Birkin.

'All cold eggs,' said Gerald. 'In sleep, you dream, in drink you curse,

and in travel you yell at a porter. No, work and love are the two. When

you're not at work you should be in love.' 'Be it then,' said Birkin.

'Give me the object,' said Gerald. 'The possibilities of love exhaust

themselves.' 'Do they? And then what?' 'Then you die,' said Gerald.

'So you ought,' said Birkin.

'I don't see it,' replied Gerald. He took his hands out of his trousers

pockets, and reached for a cigarette. He was tense and nervous. He lit

the cigarette over a lamp, reaching forward and drawing steadily. He

was dressed for dinner, as usual in the evening, although he was alone.

'There's a third one even to your two,' said Birkin. 'Work, love, and

fighting. You forget the fight.' 'I suppose I do,' said Gerald. 'Did you ever do any boxing--?' 'No, I don't think I did,' said Birkin.

'Ay--' Gerald lifted his head and blew the smoke slowly into the air.

'Why?' said Birkin.

'Nothing. I thought we might have a round. It is perhaps true, that I

want something to hit. It's a suggestion.' 'So you think you might as well hit me?' said Birkin.

'You? Well! Perhaps--! In a friendly kind of way, of course.' 'Quite!' said Birkin, bitingly.

Gerald stood leaning back against the mantel-piece. He looked down at

Birkin, and his eyes flashed with a sort of terror like the eyes of a

stallion, that are bloodshot and overwrought, turned glancing backwards

in a stiff terror.

'I fell that if I don't watch myself, I shall find myself doing

something silly,' he said.