Women in Love

'How do you like it?' he said.

He seemed to be laughing inside himself, quite unconsciously. She

looked at him. He was a phenomenon to her, not a human being: a sort of

creature, greedy.

'I like it very much,' she replied.

'Who do you like best downstairs?' he asked, standing tall and

glistening above her, with his glistening stiff hair erect.

'Who do I like best?' she repeated, wanting to answer his question, and

finding it difficult to collect herself. 'Why I don't know, I don't

know enough about them yet, to be able to say. Who do YOU like best?' 'Oh, I don't care--I don't like or dislike any of them. It doesn't

matter about me. I wanted to know about you.' 'But why?' she asked, going rather pale. The abstract, unconscious

smile in his eyes was intensified.

'I wanted to know,' he said.

She turned aside, breaking the spell. In some strange way, she felt he

was getting power over her.

'Well, I can't tell you already,' she said.

She went to the mirror to take out the hairpins from her hair. She

stood before the mirror every night for some minutes, brushing her fine

dark hair. It was part of the inevitable ritual of her life.

He followed her, and stood behind her. She was busy with bent head,

taking out the pins and shaking her warm hair loose. When she looked

up, she saw him in the glass standing behind her, watching

unconsciously, not consciously seeing her, and yet watching, with

finepupilled eyes that SEEMED to smile, and which were not really

smiling.

She started. It took all her courage for her to continue brushing her

hair, as usual, for her to pretend she was at her ease. She was far,

far from being at her ease with him. She beat her brains wildly for

something to say to him.

'What are your plans for tomorrow?' she asked nonchalantly, whilst her

heart was beating so furiously, her eyes were so bright with strange

nervousness, she felt he could not but observe. But she knew also that

he was completely blind, blind as a wolf looking at her. It was a

strange battle between her ordinary consciousness and his uncanny,

black-art consciousness.

'I don't know,' he replied, 'what would you like to do?' He spoke emptily, his mind was sunk away.

'Oh,' she said, with easy protestation, 'I'm ready for

anything--anything will be fine for ME, I'm sure.' And to herself she was saying: 'God, why am I so nervous--why are you

so nervous, you fool. If he sees it I'm done for forever--you KNOW

you're done for forever, if he sees the absurd state you're in.' And she smiled to herself as if it were all child's play. Meanwhile her

heart was plunging, she was almost fainting. She could see him, in the

mirror, as he stood there behind her, tall and over-arching--blond and

terribly frightening. She glanced at his reflection with furtive eyes,

willing to give anything to save him from knowing she could see him. He

did not know she could see his reflection. He was looking

unconsciously, glisteningly down at her head, from which the hair fell

loose, as she brushed it with wild, nervous hand. She held her head

aside and brushed and brushed her hair madly. For her life, she could

not turn round and face him. For her life, SHE COULD NOT. And the

knowledge made her almost sink to the ground in a faint, helpless,

spent. She was aware of his frightening, impending figure standing

close behind her, she was aware of his hard, strong, unyielding chest,

close upon her back. And she felt she could not bear it any more, in a

few minutes she would fall down at his feet, grovelling at his feet,

and letting him destroy her.