Page 579 - women-in-love

‘Koln—Berlin—‘ Ursula made out on the boards hung on
the high train on one side.
‘Here we are,’ said Birkin. And on her side she saw: ‘El-
sass—Lothringen—Luxembourg, Metz—Basle.’
‘That was it, Basle!’
The porter came up.
‘A Bale—deuxieme classe?—Voila!’ And he clambered
into the high train. They followed. The compartments were
already some of them taken. But many were dim and empty.
The luggage was stowed, the porter was tipped.
‘Nous avons encore—?’ said Birkin, looking at his watch
and at the porter.
‘Encore une demi-heure.’ With which, in his blue blouse,
he disappeared. He was ugly and insolent.
‘Come,’ said Birkin. ‘It is cold. Let us eat.’
There was a coffee-wagon on the platform. They drank
hot, watery coffee, and ate the long rolls, split, with ham be-
tween, which were such a wide bite that it almost dislocated
Ursula’s jaw; and they walked beside the high trains. It was
all so strange, so extremely desolate, like the underworld,
grey, grey, dirt grey, desolate, forlorn, nowhere—grey, drea-
ry nowhere.
At last they were moving through the night. In the
darkness Ursula made out the flat fields, the wet flat drea-
ry darkness of the Continent. They pulled up surprisingly
soon—Bruges! Then on through the level darkness, with
glimpses of sleeping farms and thin poplar trees and desert-
ed high-roads. She sat dismayed, hand in hand with Birkin.
He pale, immobile like a REVENANT himself, looked

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