Women in Love

One day at this time Birkin was called to London. He was not very fixed

in his abode. He had rooms in Nottingham, because his work lay chiefly

in that town. But often he was in London, or in Oxford. He moved about

a great deal, his life seemed uncertain, without any definite rhythm,

any organic meaning.

On the platform of the railway station he saw Gerald Crich, reading a

newspaper, and evidently waiting for the train. Birkin stood some

distance off, among the people. It was against his instinct to approach

anybody.

From time to time, in a manner characteristic of him, Gerald lifted his

head and looked round. Even though he was reading the newspaper

closely, he must keep a watchful eye on his external surroundings.

There seemed to be a dual consciousness running in him. He was thinking

vigorously of something he read in the newspaper, and at the same time

his eye ran over the surfaces of the life round him, and he missed

nothing. Birkin, who was watching him, was irritated by his duality. He

noticed too, that Gerald seemed always to be at bay against everybody,

in spite of his queer, genial, social manner when roused.

Now Birkin started violently at seeing this genial look flash on to

Gerald's face, at seeing Gerald approaching with hand outstretched.

'Hallo, Rupert, where are you going?' 'London. So are you, I suppose.' 'Yes--' Gerald's eyes went over Birkin's face in curiosity.

'We'll travel together if you like,' he said.

'Don't you usually go first?' asked Birkin.

'I can't stand the crowd,' replied Gerald. 'But third'll be all right.

There's a restaurant car, we can have some tea.' The two men looked at the station clock, having nothing further to say.

'What were you reading in the paper?' Birkin asked.

Gerald looked at him quickly.

'Isn't it funny, what they DO put in the newspapers,' he said. 'Here

are two leaders--' he held out his DAILY TELEGRAPH, 'full of the

ordinary newspaper cant--' he scanned the columns down--'and then

there's this little--I dunno what you'd call it, essay,

almost--appearing with the leaders, and saying there must arise a man

who will give new values to things, give us new truths, a new attitude

to life, or else we shall be a crumbling nothingness in a few years, a

country in ruin--' 'I suppose that's a bit of newspaper cant, as well,' said Birkin.

'It sounds as if the man meant it, and quite genuinely,' said Gerald.

'Give it to me,' said Birkin, holding out his hand for the paper.