Page 291 - sons-and-lovers

Slowly she shook her head despairingly.
‘I’m sure I don’t want to,’ she said.
‘I’m so damned spiritual with YOU always!’ he cried.
She remained silent, thinking, ‘Then why don’t you be
otherwise.’ But he saw her crouching, brooding figure, and
it seemed to tear him in two.
‘But, there, it’s autumn,’ he said, ‘and everybody feels like
a disembodied spirit then.’
There was still another silence. This peculiar sadness be-
tween them thrilled her soul. He seemed so beautiful with
his eyes gone dark, and looking as if they were deep as the
deepest well.
‘You make me so spiritual!’ he lamented. ‘And I don’t
want to be spiritual.’
She took her finger from her mouth with a little pop,
and looked up at him almost challenging. But still her soul
was naked in her great dark eyes, and there was the same
yearning appeal upon her. If he could have kissed her in ab-
stract purity he would have done so. But he could not kiss
her thus—and she seemed to leave no other way. And she
yearned to him.
He gave a brief laugh.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘get that French and we’ll do some—some
Verlaine.’
‘Yes,’ she said in a deep tone, almost of resignation. And
she rose and got the books. And her rather red, nervous
hands looked so pitiful, he was mad to comfort her and kiss
her. But then be dared not—or could not. There was some-
thing prevented him. His kisses were wrong for her. They

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