Women in Love

'You don't mind, do you?' he asked irritably.

'No, I don't care. Why should I? Why should I mind?' Her tone was

jeering and offensive.

'That's what I ask myself,' he said; 'why SHOULD you mind! But you seem

to.' His brows were tense with violent irritation.

'I ASSURE you I don't, I don't mind in the least. Go where you

belong-it's what I want you to do.' 'Ah you fool!' he cried, 'with your "go where you belong." It's

finished between Hermione and me. She means much more to YOU, if it

comes to that, than she does to me. For you can only revolt in pure

reaction from her-and to be her opposite is to be her counterpart.' 'Ah, opposite!' cried Ursula. 'I know your dodges. I am not taken in by

your word-twisting. You belong to Hermione and her dead show. Well, if

you do, you do. I don't blame you. But then you've nothing to do with

me.

In his inflamed, overwrought exasperation, he stopped the car, and they

sat there, in the middle of the country lane, to have it out. It was a

crisis of war between them, so they did not see the ridiculousness of

their situation.

'If you weren't a fool, if only you weren't a fool,' he cried in bitter

despair, 'you'd see that one could be decent, even when one has been

wrong. I WAS wrong to go on all those years with Hermione--it was a

deathly process. But after all, one can have a little human decency.

But no, you would tear my soul out with your jealousy at the very

mention of Hermione's name.' 'I jealous! I--jealous! You ARE mistaken if you think that. I'm not

jealous in the least of Hermione, she is nothing to me, not THAT!' And

Ursula snapped her fingers. 'No, it's you who are a liar. It's you who

must return, like a dog to his vomit. It is what Hermione STANDS FOR

that I HATE. I HATE it. It is lies, it is false, it is death. But you

want it, you can't help it, you can't help yourself. You belong to that

old, deathly way of living--then go back to it. But don't come to me,

for I've nothing to do with it.' And in the stress of her violent emotion, she got down from the car and

went to the hedgerow, picking unconsciously some flesh-pink

spindleberries, some of which were burst, showing their orange seeds.

'Ah, you are a fool,' he cried, bitterly, with some contempt.