She was so profane, slave-like, watching
him, absorbed by him. It was not that she was interested in what he
said; she was absorbed by his self-revelation, by HIM, she wanted the
secret of him, the experience of his male being.
Gerald's face was lit up with an uncanny smile, full of light and
rousedness, yet unconscious. He sat with his arms on the table, his
sunbrowned, rather sinister hands, that were animal and yet very
shapely and attractive, pushed forward towards her. And they fascinated
her. And she knew, she watched her own fascination.
Other men had come to the table, to talk with Birkin and Halliday.
Gerald said in a low voice, apart, to Pussum:
'Where have you come back from?'
'From the country,' replied Pussum, in a very low, yet fully resonant
voice. Her face closed hard. Continually she glanced at Halliday, and
then a black flare came over her eyes. The heavy, fair young man
ignored her completely; he was really afraid of her. For some moments
she would be unaware of Gerald.
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