'But you must go, my love.
It's late.'
'What time is it?' he said.
Strange, his man's voice.
She quivered.
It was an intolerable oppression to her.
'Past five o'clock,' she said.
But he only closed his arms round her again.
Her heart cried within her in torture.
She disengaged herself firmly.
'You really must go,' she said.
'Not for a minute,' he said.
She lay still, nestling against him, but unyielding.
'Not for a minute,' he repeated, clasping her closer.
'Yes,' she said, unyielding, 'I'm afraid if you stay any longer.'
There was a certain coldness in her voice that made him release her, and she broke away, rose and lit the candle.
That then was the end.
He got up.
He was warm and full of life and desire.
Yet he felt a little bit ashamed, humiliated, putting on his clothes before her, in the candle-light. For he felt revealed, exposed to her, at a time when she was in some way against him.
It was all very difficult to understand.
He dressed himself quickly, without collar or tie.
Still he felt full and complete, perfected.
She thought it humiliating to see a man dressing: the ridiculous shirt, the ridiculous trousers and braces.
But again an idea saved her.
'It is like a workman getting up to go to work,' thought Gudrun. 'And I am like a workman's wife.'
But an ache like nausea was upon her: a nausea of him.
He pushed his collar and tie into his overcoat pocket.
Then he sat down and pulled on his boots.
They were sodden, as were his socks and trouser-bottoms.
But he himself was quick and warm.
'Perhaps you ought to have put your boots on downstairs,' she said.
At once, without answering, he pulled them off again, and stood holding them in his hand.
She had thrust her feet into slippers, and flung a loose robe round her.
She was ready.
She looked at him as he stood waiting, his black coat buttoned to the chin, his cap pulled down, his boots in his hand. And the passionate almost hateful fascination revived in her for a moment.
It was not exhausted.
His face was so warm-looking, wide-eyed and full of newness, so perfect.
She felt old, old.
She went to him heavily, to be kissed.
He kissed her quickly.
She wished his warm, expressionless beauty did not so fatally put a spell on her, compel her and subjugate her.
It was a burden upon her, that she resented, but could not escape.
Yet when she looked at his straight man's brows, and at his rather small, well-shaped nose, and at his blue, indifferent eyes, she knew her passion for him was not yet satisfied, perhaps never could be satisfied.
Only now she was weary, with an ache like nausea.
She wanted him gone.
They went downstairs quickly.
It seemed they made a prodigious noise.
He followed her as, wrapped in her vivid green wrap, she preceded him with the light.
She suffered badly with fear, lest her people should be roused.