David Herbert Lawrence

business...the half-virgin state of her affairs. But he could not bring

himself to do it. He was at once too intimate with her and not intimate

enough. He was so very much at one with her, in his mind and hers, but

bodily they were non-existent to one another, and neither could bear to drag

in the corpus delicti. They were so intimate, and utterly out of touch.

Connie guessed, however, that her father had said something, and that

something was in Clifford's mind. She knew that he didn't mind whether she

were demi-vierge or demi-monde, so long as he didn't absolutely know, and

wasn't made to see. What the eye doesn't see and the mind doesn't know,

doesn't exist.

Connie and Clifford had now been nearly two years at Wragby, living

their vague life of absorption in Clifford and his work. Their interests had

never ceased to flow together over his work. They talked and wrestled in the

throes of composition, and felt as if something were happening, really

happening, really in the void.

And thus far it was a life: in the void. For the rest it was

non-existence. Wragby was there, the servants...but spectral, not really

existing. Connie went for walks in the park, and in the woods that joined

the park, and enjoyed the solitude and the mystery, kicking the brown leaves

of autumn, and picking the primroses of spring. But it was all a dream; or

rather it was like the simulacrum of reality. The oak-leaves were to her

like oak-leaves seen ruffling in a mirror, she herself was a figure somebody

had read about, picking primroses that were only shadows or memories, or

words. No substance to her or anything...no touch, no contact! Only this

life with Clifford, this endless spinning of webs of yarn, of the minutiae

of consciousness, these stories Sir Malcolm said there was nothing in, and

they wouldn't last. Why should there be anything in them, why should they

last? Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. Sufficient unto the

moment is the appearance of reality.

Clifford had quite a number of friends, acquaintances really, and he

invited them to Wragby. He invited all sorts of people, critics and writers,

people who would help to praise his books. And they were flattered at being

asked to Wragby, and they praised. Connie understood it all perfectly. But

why not? This was one of the fleeting patterns in the mirror. What was wrong

with it?

She was hostess to these people...mostly men. She was hostess also to

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