three things left, that would rouse him, make him live. One was to drink or smoke hashish, the other was to be soothed by Birkin, and the third was women. And there was no one for the moment to drink with. Nor was there a woman. And he knew Birkin was out. So there was nothing to do but to bear the stress of his own emptiness.
When he saw Birkin his face lit up in a sudden, wonderful smile.
“By God, Rupert,” he said, “I’d just come to the conclusion that nothing in the world mattered except somebody to take the edge off one’s being alone: the right somebody.”
The smile in his eyes was very astonishing, as he looked at the other man. It was the pure gleam of relief. His face was pallid and even haggard.
“The right woman, I suppose you mean,” said Birkin spitefully.