Women in Love

'I don't know,' she replied.

'Don't you truly?' 'Nobody knows for certain. He MAY die, of course.' The child pondered a few moments, then she asked: 'But do you THINK he will die?' It was put almost like a question in geography or science, insistent,

as if she would force an admission from the adult. The watchful,

slightly triumphant child was almost diabolical.

'Do I think he will die?' repeated Gudrun. 'Yes, I do.' But Winifred's large eyes were fixed on her, and the girl did not move.

'He is very ill,' said Gudrun.

A small smile came over Winifred's face, subtle and sceptical.

'I don't believe he will,' the child asserted, mockingly, and she moved

away into the drive. Gudrun watched the isolated figure, and her heart

stood still. Winifred was playing with a little rivulet of water,

absorbedly as if nothing had been said.

'I've made a proper dam,' she said, out of the moist distance.

Gerald came to the door from out of the hall behind.

'It is just as well she doesn't choose to believe it,' he said.

Gudrun looked at him. Their eyes met; and they exchanged a sardonic

understanding.

'Just as well,' said Gudrun.

He looked at her again, and a fire flickered up in his eyes.

'Best to dance while Rome burns, since it must burn, don't you think?'

he said.

She was rather taken aback. But, gathering herself together, she

replied: 'Oh--better dance than wail, certainly.' 'So I think.' And they both felt the subterranean desire to let go, to fling away

everything, and lapse into a sheer unrestraint, brutal and licentious.

A strange black passion surged up pure in Gudrun. She felt strong. She

felt her hands so strong, as if she could tear the world asunder with

them. She remembered the abandonments of Roman licence, and her heart

grew hot. She knew she wanted this herself also--or something,

something equivalent. Ah, if that which was unknown and suppressed in

her were once let loose, what an orgiastic and satisfying event it

would be. And she wanted it, she trembled slightly from the proximity

of the man, who stood just behind her, suggestive of the same black

licentiousness that rose in herself. She wanted it with him, this

unacknowledged frenzy. For a moment the clear perception of this

preoccupied her, distinct and perfect in its final reality. Then she

shut it off completely, saying: 'We might as well go down to the lodge after Winifred--we can get in

the care there.' 'So we can,' he answered, going with her.