'It's a nasty view of things, Gerald,' said Birkin, 'and no wonder you
are afraid of yourself and your own unhappiness.'
'How am I afraid of myself?' said Gerald; 'and I don't think I am
unhappy.'
'You seem to have a lurking desire to have your gizzard slit, and
imagine every man has his knife up his sleeve for you,' Birkin said.
'How do you make that out?' said Gerald.
'From you,' said Birkin.
There was a pause of strange enmity between the two men, that was very
near to love. It was always the same between them; always their talk
brought them into a deadly nearness of contact, a strange, perilous
intimacy which was either hate or love, or both. They parted with
apparent unconcern, as if their going apart were a trivial occurrence.
And they really kept it to the level of trivial occurrence. Yet the
heart of each burned from the other. They burned with each other,
inwardly. This they would never admit. They intended to keep their
relationship a casual free-and-easy friendship, they were not going to
be so unmanly and unnatural as to allow any heart-burning between them.
They had not the faintest belief in deep relationship between men and
men, and their disbelief prevented any development of their powerful
but suppressed friendliness.
CHAPTER III.
CLASS-ROOM
A school-day was drawing to a close. In the class-room the last lesson
was in progress, peaceful and still. It was elementary botany. The
desks were littered with catkins, hazel and willow, which the children
had been sketching. But the sky had come overdark, as the end of the
afternoon approached: there was scarcely light to draw any more. Ursula
stood in front of the class, leading the children by questions to
understand the structure and the meaning of the catkins.
A heavy, copper-coloured beam of light came in at the west window,
gilding the outlines of the children's heads with red gold, and falling
on the wall opposite in a rich, ruddy illumination. Ursula, however,
was scarcely conscious of it. She was busy, the end of the day was
here, the work went on as a peaceful tide that is at flood, hushed to
retire.
This day had gone by like so many more, in an activity that was like a
trance. At the end there was a little haste, to finish what was in
hand. She was pressing the children with questions, so that they should
know all they were to know, by the time the gong went. She stood in
shadow in front of the class, with catkins in her hand, and she leaned
towards the children, absorbed in the passion of instruction.
She heard, but did not notice the click of the door. Suddenly she
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