Page 638 - women-in-love

Her hair, which was short and must be flaxen, fell forward,
divided, half covering her hands.
Her limbs were young and tender. Her legs, scarcely
formed yet, the legs of a maiden just passing towards cruel
womanhood, dangled childishly over the side of the pow-
erful horse, pathetically, the small feet folded one over the
other, as if to hide. But there was no hiding. There she was
exposed naked on the naked flank of the horse.
The horse stood stock still, stretched in a kind of start.
It was a massive, magnificent stallion, rigid with pent-up
power. Its neck was arched and terrible, like a sickle, its
flanks were pressed back, rigid with power.
Gudrun went pale, and a darkness came over her eyes,
like shame, she looked up with a certain supplication, al-
most slave-like. He glanced at her, and jerked his head a
little.
‘How big is it?’ she asked, in a toneless voice, persisting in
appearing casual and unaffected.
‘How big?’ he replied, glancing again at her. ‘Without
pedestal—so high—‘ he measured with his hand—‘with
pedestal, so—‘
He looked at her steadily. There was a little brusque, tur-
gid contempt for her in his swift gesture, and she seemed to
cringe a little.
‘And what is it done in?’ she asked, throwing back her
head and looking at him with affected coldness.
He still gazed at her steadily, and his dominance was not
shaken.
‘Bronze—green bronze.’

638 Women in Love