There is only the pure duality of polarisation, each one free from any contamination of the other.
In each, the individual is primal, sex is subordinate, but perfectly polarised.
Each has a single, separate being, with its own laws.
The man has his pure freedom, the woman hers. Each acknowledges the perfection of the polarised sex-circuit.
Each admits the different nature in the other.
So Birkin meditated whilst he was ill.
He liked sometimes to be ill enough to take to his bed.
For then he got better very quickly, and things came to him clear and sure.
Whilst he was laid up, Gerald came to see him.
The two men had a deep, uneasy feeling for each other.
Gerald's eyes were quick and restless, his whole manner tense and impatient, he seemed strung up to some activity.
According to conventionality, he wore black clothes, he looked formal, handsome and COMME IL FAUT.
His hair was fair almost to whiteness, sharp like splinters of light, his face was keen and ruddy, his body seemed full of northern energy.
Gerald really loved Birkin, though he never quite believed in him.
Birkin was too unreal;—clever, whimsical, wonderful, but not practical enough.
Gerald felt that his own understanding was much sounder and safer.
Birkin was delightful, a wonderful spirit, but after all, not to be taken seriously, not quite to be counted as a man among men.
'Why are you laid up again?' he asked kindly, taking the sick man's hand.
It was always Gerald who was protective, offering the warm shelter of his physical strength.
'For my sins, I suppose,' Birkin said, smiling a little ironically.
'For your sins?
Yes, probably that is so.
You should sin less, and keep better in health?'
'You'd better teach me.'
He looked at Gerald with ironic eyes.
'How are things with you?' asked Birkin.
'With me?' Gerald looked at Birkin, saw he was serious, and a warm light came into his eyes.
'I don't know that they're any different.
I don't see how they could be.
There's nothing to change.'
'I suppose you are conducting the business as successfully as ever, and ignoring the demand of the soul.'
'That's it,' said Gerald. 'At least as far as the business is concerned.
I couldn't say about the soul, I'am sure.'
'No.'
'Surely you don't expect me to?' laughed Gerald.
'No.
How are the rest of your affairs progressing, apart from the business?'
'The rest of my affairs?
What are those?
I couldn't say; I don't know what you refer to.'
'Yes, you do,' said Birkin. 'Are you gloomy or cheerful?
And what about Gudrun Brangwen?'
'What about her?' A confused look came over Gerald. 'Well,' he added, 'I don't know.
I can only tell you she gave me a hit over the face last time I saw her.'
'A hit over the face!
What for?'
'That I couldn't tell you, either.'
'Really!
But when?'
'The night of the party—when Diana was drowned.