Page 366 - sons-and-lovers

in Nottingham.’
‘And I should have the pleasure of watching them die.’
‘But then—it does not matter if they do die.’
Whereupon he left her, and went stooping over the
clumps of tangled flowers which thickly sprinkled the field
like pale, luminous foam-clots. Miriam had come close.
Clara was kneeling, breathing some scent from the cow-
slips.
‘I think,’ said Miriam, ‘if you treat them with reverence
you don’t do them any harm. It is the spirit you pluck them
in that matters.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But no, you get ‘em because you want ‘em,
and that’s all.’ He held out his bunch.
Miriam was silent. He picked some more.
‘Look at these!’ he continued; ‘sturdy and lusty like little
trees and like boys with fat legs.’
Clara’s hat lay on the grass not far off. She was kneeling,
bending forward still to smell the flowers. Her neck gave
him a sharp pang, such a beautiful thing, yet not proud of
itself just now. Her breasts swung slightly in her blouse.
The arching curve of her back was beautiful and strong; she
wore no stays. Suddenly, without knowing, he was scatter-
ing a handful of cowslips over her hair and neck, saying:
‘Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust,
If the Lord won’t have you the devil must.’
The chill flowers fell on her neck. She looked up at him,
with almost pitiful, scared grey eyes, wondering what he
was doing. Flowers fell on her face, and she shut her eyes.
Suddenly, standing there above her, he felt awkward.