But people give me a bad feeling--very bad.'
There was a roused glad smile in Gerald's eyes.
'Do they?' he said. And he watched the other man critically.
In a few minutes the train was running through the disgrace of
outspread London. Everybody in the carriage was on the alert, waiting
to escape. At last they were under the huge arch of the station, in the
tremendous shadow of the town. Birkin shut himself together--he was in
now.
The two men went together in a taxi-cab.
'Don't you feel like one of the damned?' asked Birkin, as they sat in a
little, swiftly-running enclosure, and watched the hideous great
street.
'No,' laughed Gerald.
'It is real death,' said Birkin.
CHAPTER VI.
CREME DE MENTHE
They met again in the cafe several hours later. Gerald went through the
push doors into the large, lofty room where the faces and heads of the
drinkers showed dimly through the haze of smoke, reflected more dimly,
and repeated ad infinitum in the great mirrors on the walls, so that
one seemed to enter a vague, dim world of shadowy drinkers humming
within an atmosphere of blue tobacco smoke.
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