That's the place to get to—nowhere.
One wants to wander away from the world's somewheres, into our own nowhere.'
Still she meditated.
'You see, my love,' she said, 'I'm so afraid that while we are only people, we've got to take the world that's given—because there isn't any other.'
'Yes there is,' he said. 'There's somewhere where we can be free—somewhere where one needn't wear much clothes—none even—where one meets a few people who have gone through enough, and can take things for granted—where you be yourself, without bothering.
There is somewhere—there are one or two people—'
'But where—?' she sighed.
'Somewhere—anywhere.
Let's wander off.
That's the thing to do—let's wander off.'
'Yes—' she said, thrilled at the thought of travel.
But to her it was only travel.
'To be free,' he said. 'To be free, in a free place, with a few other people!'
'Yes,' she said wistfully.
Those 'few other people' depressed her.
'It isn't really a locality, though,' he said. 'It's a perfected relation between you and me, and others—the perfect relation—so that we are free together.'
'It is, my love, isn't it,' she said. 'It's you and me.
It's you and me, isn't it?'
She stretched out her arms to him.
He went across and stooped to kiss her face.
Her arms closed round him again, her hands spread upon his shoulders, moving slowly there, moving slowly on his back, down his back slowly, with a strange recurrent, rhythmic motion, yet moving slowly down, pressing mysteriously over his loins, over his flanks.
The sense of the awfulness of riches that could never be impaired flooded her mind like a swoon, a death in most marvellous possession, mystic-sure.
She possessed him so utterly and intolerably, that she herself lapsed out.
And yet she was only sitting still in the chair, with her hands pressed upon him, and lost.
Again he softly kissed her.
'We shall never go apart again,' he murmured quietly.
And she did not speak, but only pressed her hands firmer down upon the source of darkness in him.
They decided, when they woke again from the pure swoon, to write their resignations from the world of work there and then.
She wanted this.
He rang the bell, and ordered note-paper without a printed address.
The waiter cleared the table.
'Now then,' he said, 'yours first.
Put your home address, and the date—then
"Director of Education, Town Hall—Sir—" Now then!—I don't know how one really stands—I suppose one could get out of it in less than month—Anyhow
"Sir—I beg to resign my post as classmistress in the Willey Green Grammar School.
I should be very grateful if you would liberate me as soon as possible, without waiting for the expiration of the month's notice."
That'll do.
Have you got it?
Let me look.
"Ursula Brangwen."
Good!
Now I'll write mine.
I ought to give them three months, but I can plead health.
I can arrange it all right.'
He sat and wrote out his formal resignation.
'Now,' he said, when the envelopes were sealed and addressed, 'shall we post them here, both together?
I know Jackie will say,
"Here's a coincidence!" when he receives them in all their identity.
Shall we let him say it, or not?'
'I don't care,' she said.