'Do you ever consciously detest me--hate me with mystic hate?
There are odd moments when I hate you starrily.'
Gerald was rather taken aback, even a little disconcerted. He did not
quite know what to say.
'I may, of course, hate you sometimes,' he said. 'But I'm not aware of
it--never acutely aware of it, that is.'
'So much the worse,' said Birkin.
Gerald watched him with curious eyes. He could not quite make him out.
'So much the worse, is it?' he repeated.
There was a silence between the two men for some time, as the train ran
on. In Birkin's face was a little irritable tension, a sharp knitting
of the brows, keen and difficult. Gerald watched him warily, carefully,
rather calculatingly, for he could not decide what he was after.
Suddenly Birkin's eyes looked straight and overpowering into those of
the other man.
'What do you think is the aim and object of your life, Gerald?' he
asked.
Again Gerald was taken aback. He could not think what his friend was
getting at.
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