She seemed to catch
her thoughts at length from off the surface of a maelstrom of chaotic
black emotions and reactions, and Birkin was always filled with
repulsion, she caught so infallibly, her will never failed her. Her
voice was always dispassionate and tense, and perfectly confident. Yet
she shuddered with a sense of nausea, a sort of seasickness that always
threatened to overwhelm her mind. But her mind remained unbroken, her
will was still perfect. It almost sent Birkin mad. But he would never,
never dare to break her will, and let loose the maelstrom of her
subconsciousness, and see her in her ultimate madness. Yet he was
always striking at her.
'And of course,' he said to Gerald, 'horses HAVEN'T got a complete
will, like human beings. A horse has no ONE will. Every horse,
strictly, has two wills. With one will, it wants to put itself in the
human power completely--and with the other, it wants to be free, wild.
The two wills sometimes lock--you know that, if ever you've felt a
horse bolt, while you've been driving it.
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