Page 134 - women-in-love

‘I know,’ said Birkin. Then he added, rather fretfully, ‘But
go to bed, Gerald. God knows what time it is.’
Gerald looked at his watch, and at length rose off the bed,
and went to his room. But he returned in a few minutes, in
his shirt.
‘One thing,’ he said, seating himself on the bed again.
‘We finished up rather stormily, and I never had time to give
her anything.’
‘Money?’ said Birkin. ‘She’ll get what she wants from
Halliday or from one of her acquaintances.’
‘But then,’ said Gerald, ‘I’d rather give her her dues and
settle the account.’
‘She doesn’t care.’
‘No, perhaps not. But one feels the account is left open,
and one would rather it were closed.’
‘Would you?’ said Birkin. He was looking at the white
legs of Gerald, as the latter sat on the side of the bed in his
shirt. They were white-skinned, full, muscular legs, hand-
some and decided. Yet they moved Birkin with a sort of
pathos, tenderness, as if they were childish.
‘I think I’d rather close the account,’ said Gerald, repeat-
ing himself vaguely.
‘It doesn’t matter one way or another,’ said Birkin.
‘You always say it doesn’t matter,’ said Gerald, a little
puzzled, looking down at the face of the other man affec-
tionately.
‘Neither does it,’ said Birkin.
‘But she was a decent sort, really—‘
‘Render unto Caesarina the things that are Caesarina’s,’

134 Women in Love