Women in Love

'Thank you,' she said.

And she turned and walked out of the Cafe with the letter, all down the

brilliant room, between the tables, in her measured fashion. It was

some moments before anybody realised what was happening.

From Halliday's table came half articulate cries, then somebody booed,

then all the far end of the place began booing after Gudrun's

retreating form. She was fashionably dressed in blackish-green and

silver, her hat was brilliant green, like the sheen on an insect, but

the brim was soft dark green, a falling edge with fine silver, her coat

was dark green, lustrous, with a high collar of grey fur, and great fur

cuffs, the edge of her dress showed silver and black velvet, her

stockings and shoes were silver grey. She moved with slow, fashionable

indifference to the door. The porter opened obsequiously for her, and,

at her nod, hurried to the edge of the pavement and whistled for a

taxi. The two lights of a vehicle almost immediately curved round

towards her, like two eyes.

Gerald had followed in wonder, amid all the booing, not having caught

her misdeed. He heard the Pussum's voice saying: 'Go and get it back from her. I never heard of such a thing! Go and get

it back from her. Tell Gerald Crich--there he goes--go and make him

give it up.' Gudrun stood at the door of the taxi, which the man held open for her.

'To the hotel?' she asked, as Gerald came out, hurriedly.

'Where you like,' he answered.

'Right!' she said. Then to the driver, 'Wagstaff's--Barton Street.' The driver bowed his head, and put down the flag.

Gudrun entered the taxi, with the deliberate cold movement of a woman

who is well-dressed and contemptuous in her soul. Yet she was frozen

with overwrought feelings. Gerald followed her.

'You've forgotten the man,' she said cooly, with a slight nod of her

hat. Gerald gave the porter a shilling. The man saluted. They were in

motion.

'What was all the row about?' asked Gerald, in wondering excitement.

'I walked away with Birkin's letter,' she said, and he saw the crushed

paper in her hand.

His eyes glittered with satisfaction.

'Ah!' he said. 'Splendid! A set of jackasses!' 'I could have KILLED them!' she cried in passion. 'DOGS!--they are

dogs! Why is Rupert such a FOOL as to write such letters to them? Why

does he give himself away to such canaille? It's a thing that CANNOT BE

BORNE.' Gerald wondered over her strange passion.

And she could not rest any longer in London. They must go by the

morning train from Charing Cross. As they drew over the bridge, in the

train, having glimpses of the river between the great iron girders, she

cried: 'I feel I could NEVER see this foul town again--I couldn't BEAR to come

back to it.'