“Yes but, you see,” said Birkin slowly, rather wearily, bored again by this new turn, “they won’t give either you or me the chance to bury them, because they’re not to be buried.”
Brangwen looked at him in a sudden flare of impotent anger.
“Now, Mr Birkin,” he said, “I don’t know what you’ve come here for, and I don’t know what you’re asking for. But my daughters are my daughters—and it’s my business to look after them while I can.”
Birkin’s brows knitted suddenly, his eyes concentrated in mockery. But he remained perfectly stiff and still. There was a pause.
“I’ve nothing against your marrying Ursula,” Brangwen began at length. “It’s got nothing to do with me, she’ll do as she likes, me or no me.”
Birkin turned away, looking out of the window and letting go his consciousness. After all, what good was