Women in Love

At length Gerald lay back inert on the carpet, his breast rising in

great slow panting, whilst Birkin kneeled over him, almost unconscious.

Birkin was much more exhausted. He caught little, short breaths, he

could scarcely breathe any more. The earth seemed to tilt and sway, and

a complete darkness was coming over his mind. He did not know what

happened. He slid forward quite unconscious, over Gerald, and Gerald

did not notice. Then he was half-conscious again, aware only of the

strange tilting and sliding of the world. The world was sliding,

everything was sliding off into the darkness. And he was sliding,

endlessly, endlessly away.

He came to consciousness again, hearing an immense knocking outside.

What could be happening, what was it, the great hammer-stroke

resounding through the house? He did not know. And then it came to him

that it was his own heart beating. But that seemed impossible, the

noise was outside. No, it was inside himself, it was his own heart. And

the beating was painful, so strained, surcharged. He wondered if Gerald

heard it. He did not know whether he were standing or lying or falling.

When he realised that he had fallen prostrate upon Gerald's body he

wondered, he was surprised. But he sat up, steadying himself with his

hand and waiting for his heart to become stiller and less painful. It

hurt very much, and took away his consciousness.

Gerald however was still less conscious than Birkin. They waited dimly,

in a sort of not-being, for many uncounted, unknown minutes.

'Of course--' panted Gerald, 'I didn't have to be rough--with you--I

had to keep back--my force--' Birkin heard the sound as if his own spirit stood behind him, outside

him, and listened to it. His body was in a trance of exhaustion, his

spirit heard thinly. His body could not answer. Only he knew his heart

was getting quieter. He was divided entirely between his spirit, which

stood outside, and knew, and his body, that was a plunging, unconscious

stroke of blood.

'I could have thrown you--using violence--' panted Gerald. 'But you

beat me right enough.' 'Yes,' said Birkin, hardening his throat and producing the words in the

tension there, 'you're much stronger than I--you could beat

me--easily.' Then he relaxed again to the terrible plunging of his heart and his

blood.

'It surprised me,' panted Gerald, 'what strength you've got. Almost

supernatural.' 'For a moment,' said Birkin.

He still heard as if it were his own disembodied spirit hearing,

standing at some distance behind him. It drew nearer however, his

spirit. And the violent striking of blood in his chest was sinking

quieter, allowing his mind to come back. He realised that he was

leaning with all his weight on the soft body of the other man. It

startled him, because he thought he had withdrawn. He recovered

himself, and sat up. But he was still vague and unestablished. He put

out his hand to steady himself. It touched the hand of Gerald, that was

lying out on the floor. And Gerald's hand closed warm and sudden over

Birkin's, they remained exhausted and breathless, the one hand clasped

closely over the other. It was Birkin whose hand, in swift response,

had closed in a strong, warm clasp over the hand of the other. Gerald's

clasp had been sudden and momentaneous.