Women in Love

'How long are you staying?' she asked him.

'A day or two,' he replied. 'But there is no particular hurry.' Still she stared into his face with that slow, full gaze which was so

curious and so exciting to him. He was acutely and delightfully

conscious of himself, of his own attractiveness. He felt full of

strength, able to give off a sort of electric power. And he was aware

of her dark, hot-looking eyes upon him. She had beautiful eyes, dark,

fully-opened, hot, naked in their looking at him. And on them there

seemed to float a film of disintegration, a sort of misery and

sullenness, like oil on water. She wore no hat in the heated cafe, her

loose, simple jumper was strung on a string round her neck. But it was

made of rich peach-coloured crepe-de-chine, that hung heavily and

softly from her young throat and her slender wrists. Her appearance was

simple and complete, really beautiful, because of her regularity and

form, her soft dark hair falling full and level on either side of her

head, her straight, small, softened features, Egyptian in the slight

fulness of their curves, her slender neck and the simple, rich-coloured

smock hanging on her slender shoulders. She was very still, almost

null, in her manner, apart and watchful.

She appealed to Gerald strongly. He felt an awful, enjoyable power over

her, an instinctive cherishing very near to cruelty. For she was a

victim. He felt that she was in his power, and he was generous. The

electricity was turgid and voluptuously rich, in his limbs. He would be

able to destroy her utterly in the strength of his discharge. But she

was waiting in her separation, given.

They talked banalities for some time. Suddenly Birkin said: 'There's Julius!' and he half rose to his feet, motioning to the

newcomer. The girl, with a curious, almost evil motion, looked round

over her shoulder without moving her body. Gerald watched her dark,

soft hair swing over her ears. He felt her watching intensely the man

who was approaching, so he looked too. He saw a pale, full-built young

man with rather long, solid fair hair hanging from under his black hat,

moving cumbrously down the room, his face lit up with a smile at once

naive and warm, and vapid. He approached towards Birkin, with a haste

of welcome.

It was not till he was quite close that he perceived the girl. He

recoiled, went pale, and said, in a high squealing voice: 'Pussum, what are YOU doing here?' The cafe looked up like animals when they hear a cry. Halliday hung

motionless, an almost imbecile smile flickering palely on his face. The

girl only stared at him with a black look in which flared an

unfathomable hell of knowledge, and a certain impotence. She was

limited by him.