Women in Love

But he felt something icy gathering at his heart. This strange mood of

patience and innocence which had persisted in him for some days, was

passing away, he would be left again a prey to the horrible passions

and tortures.

So he came down reluctantly, snow-burned, snow-estranged, to the house

in the hollow, between the knuckles of the mountain tops. He saw its

lights shining yellow, and he held back, wishing he need not go in, to

confront those people, to hear the turmoil of voices and to feel the

confusion of other presences. He was isolated as if there were a vacuum

round his heart, or a sheath of pure ice.

The moment he saw Gudrun something jolted in his soul. She was looking

rather lofty and superb, smiling slowly and graciously to the Germans.

A sudden desire leapt in his heart, to kill her. He thought, what a

perfect voluptuous fulfilment it would be, to kill her. His mind was

absent all the evening, estranged by the snow and his passion. But he

kept the idea constant within him, what a perfect voluptuous

consummation it would be to strangle her, to strangle every spark of

life out of her, till she lay completely inert, soft, relaxed for ever,

a soft heap lying dead between his hands, utterly dead. Then he would

have had her finally and for ever; there would be such a perfect

voluptuous finality.

Gudrun was unaware of what he was feeling, he seemed so quiet and

amiable, as usual. His amiability even made her feel brutal towards

him.

She went into his room when he was partially undressed. She did not

notice the curious, glad gleam of pure hatred, with which he looked at

her. She stood near the door, with her hand behind her.

'I have been thinking, Gerald,' she said, with an insulting

nonchalance, 'that I shall not go back to England.' 'Oh,' he said, 'where will you go then?' But she ignored his question. She had her own logical statement to

make, and it must be made as she had thought it.

'I can't see the use of going back,' she continued. 'It is over between

me and you--' She paused for him to speak. But he said nothing. He was only talking

to himself, saying 'Over, is it? I believe it is over. But it isn't

finished. Remember, it isn't finished. We must put some sort of a

finish on it. There must be a conclusion, there must be finality.' So he talked to himself, but aloud he said nothing whatever.

'What has been, has been,' she continued. 'There is nothing that I

regret. I hope you regret nothing--' She waited for him to speak.