Page 556 - sons-and-lovers

He again felt guilty. Did he leave Clara out of count, and
take simply women? But he thought that was splitting a
hair.
‘When I had Baxter, actually had him, then I DID feel as
if I had all of him,’ she said.
‘And it was better?’ he asked.
‘Yes, yes; it was more whole. I don’t say you haven’t given
me more than he ever gave me.’
‘Or could give you.’
‘Yes, perhaps; but you’ve never given me yourself.’
He knitted his brows angrily.
‘If I start to make love to you,’ he said, ‘I just go like a leaf
down the wind.’
‘And leave me out of count,’ she said.
‘And then is it nothing to you?’ he asked, almost rigid
with chagrin.
‘It’s something; and sometimes you have carried me
away—right away—I know—and—I reverence you for it—
but—-‘
‘Don’t ‘but’ me,’ he said, kissing her quickly, as a fire ran
through him.
She submitted, and was silent.
It was true as he said. As a rule, when he started love-
making, the emotion was strong enough to carry with it
everything—reason, soul, blood—in a great sweep, like
the Trent carries bodily its back-swirls and intertwinings,
noiselessly. Gradually the little criticisms, the little sensa-
tions, were lost, thought also went, everything borne along
in one flood. He became, not a man with a mind, but a great