David Herbert Lawrence

'To my hand?' said Gerald. 'I trapped it in some machinery.'

'Ugh!' said Ursula. 'And did it hurt much?'

'Yes,' he said. 'It did at the time. It's getting better now. It

crushed the fingers.'

'Oh,' cried Ursula, as if in pain, 'I hate people who hurt themselves.

I can FEEL it.' And she shook her hand.

'What do you want?' said Birkin.

The two men carried down the slim brown boat, and set it on the water.

'You're quite sure you'll be safe in it?' Gerald asked.

'Quite sure,' said Gudrun. 'I wouldn't be so mean as to take it, if

there was the slightest doubt. But I've had a canoe at Arundel, and I

assure you I'm perfectly safe.'

So saying, having given her word like a man, she and Ursula entered the

frail craft, and pushed gently off. The two men stood watching them.

Gudrun was paddling. She knew the men were watching her, and it made

her slow and rather clumsy. The colour flew in her face like a flag.

'Thanks awfully,' she called back to him, from the water, as the boat

slid away. 'It's lovely--like sitting in a leaf.'

He laughed at the fancy. Her voice was shrill and strange, calling from

the distance. He watched her as she paddled away. There was something

childlike about her, trustful and deferential, like a child. He watched

her all the while, as she rowed. And to Gudrun it was a real delight,

in make-belief, to be the childlike, clinging woman to the man who

stood there on the quay, so good-looking and efficient in his white

clothes, and moreover the most important man she knew at the moment.

She did not take any notice of the wavering, indistinct, lambent

Birkin, who stood at his side. One figure at a time occupied the field

of her attention.

The boat rustled lightly along the water. They passed the bathers whose

striped tents stood between the willows of the meadow's edge, and drew

along the open shore, past the meadows that sloped golden in the light

of the already late afternoon. Other boats were stealing under the

wooded shore opposite, they could hear people's laughter and voices.

But Gudrun rowed on towards the clump of trees that balanced perfect in

the distance, in the golden light.

The sisters found a little place where a tiny stream flowed into the

lake, with reeds and flowery marsh of pink willow herb, and a gravelly

bank to the side. Here they ran delicately ashore, with their frail

boat, the two girls took off their shoes and stockings and went through

the water's edge to the grass. The tiny ripples of the lake were warm

and clear, they lifted their boat on to the bank, and looked round with

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