Women in Love

“I want to go,” said Gudrun to Gerald, as she signalled the waiter. Her eyes were flashing, her cheeks were flushed. The strange effect of Birkin’s letter read aloud in a perfect clerical sing-song, clear and resonant, phrase by phrase, made the blood mount into her head as if she were mad.

She rose, whilst Gerald was paying the bill, and walked over to Halliday’s table. They all glanced up at her.

“Excuse me,” she said. “Is that a genuine letter you are reading?”

“Oh yes,” said Halliday. “Quite genuine.”

“May I see?”

Smiling foolishly he handed it to her, as if hypnotised.

“Thank you,” she said.

And she turned and walked out of the Café with the letter, all down the brilliant room, between the tables,

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