Women in Love


“Ay, well that may be your way of looking at it.”

Birkin, in silence, thought to himself: “So it may. As for your way of looking at it, William Brangwen, it needs a little explaining.”

“I suppose,” said Brangwen, “you know what sort of people we are? What sort of a bringing-up she’s had?”

“‘She’,” thought Birkin to himself, remembering his childhood’s corrections, “is the cat’s mother.”

“Do I know what sort of a bringing-up she’s had?” he said aloud.

He seemed to annoy Brangwen intentionally.

“Well,” he said, “she’s had everything that’s right for a girl to have—as far as possible, as far as we could give it her.”

“I’m sure she has,” said Birkin, which caused a perilous full-stop. The father was becoming exasperated. There was something naturally irritant to

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