Women in Love

“But then,” said Gerald, “I’d rather give her her dues and settle the account.”

“She doesn’t care.”

“No, perhaps not. But one feels the account is left open, and one would rather it were closed.”

“Would you?” said Birkin. He was looking at the white legs of Gerald, as the latter sat on the side of the bed in his shirt. They were white-skinned, full, muscular legs, handsome and decided. Yet they moved Birkin with a sort of pathos, tenderness, as if they were childish.

“I think I’d rather close the account,” said Gerald, repeating himself vaguely.

“It doesn’t matter one way or another,” said Birkin.

“You always say it doesn’t matter,” said Gerald, a little puzzled, looking down at the face of the other man affectionately.

“Neither does it,” said Birkin.

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