Page 619 - sons-and-lovers

with glistening, dark gold hair.
‘Look here,’ said Dawes, pointing to his shin. ‘Look at the
water under here.’
‘Where?’ said Paul.
The man pressed in his finger-tips. They left little dents
that filled up slowly.
‘It’s nothing,’ said Paul.
‘You feel,’ said Dawes.
Paul tried with his fingers. It made little dents.
‘H’m!’ he said.
‘Rotten, isn’t it?’ said Dawes.
‘Why? It’s nothing much.’
‘You’re not much of a man with water in your legs.’
‘I can’t see as it makes any difference,’ said Morel. ‘I’ve
got a weak chest.’
He returned to his own bed.
‘I suppose the rest of me’s all right,’ said Dawes, and he
put out the light.
In the morning it was raining. Morel packed his bag.
The sea was grey and shaggy and dismal. He seemed to be
cutting himself off from life more and more. It gave him a
wicked pleasure to do it.
The two men were at the station. Clara stepped out of the
train, and came along the platform, very erect and coldly
composed. She wore a long coat and a tweed hat. Both men
hated her for her composure. Paul shook hands with her at
the barrier. Dawes was leaning against the bookstall, watch-
ing. His black overcoat was buttoned up to the chin because
of the rain. He was pale, with almost a touch of nobility in

1 Sons and Lovers