mean—it is a great experience, something final—and then—you’re shrivelled as if struck by electricity.” He walked on in silence. It seemed like bragging, but like a man in extremity bragging truthfully.
“Of course,” he resumed, “I wouldn’t not have had it! It’s a complete experience. And she’s a wonderful woman. But—how I hate her somewhere! It’s curious—”
Birkin looked at him, at his strange, scarcely conscious face. Gerald seemed blank before his own words.
“But you’ve had enough now?” said Birkin. “You have had your experience. Why work on an old wound?”
“Oh,” said Gerald, “I don’t know. It’s not finished—”
And the two walked on.
“I’ve loved you, as well as Gudrun, don’t forget,”