Then she had rushed in a soft swift rush, half
way down the garden. There she paused to look round. The Mino turned
his face in pure superiority to his master, and slowly closed his eyes,
standing in statuesque young perfection. The wild cat's round, green,
wondering eyes were staring all the while like uncanny fires. Then
again, like a shadow, she slid towards the kitchen.
In a lovely springing leap, like a wind, the Mino was upon her, and had
boxed her twice, very definitely, with a white, delicate fist. She sank
and slid back, unquestioning. He walked after her, and cuffed her once
or twice, leisurely, with sudden little blows of his magic white paws.
'Now why does he do that?' cried Ursula in indignation.
'They are on intimate terms,' said Birkin.
'And is that why he hits her?'
'Yes,' laughed Birkin, 'I think he wants to make it quite obvious to
her.'
'Isn't it horrid of him!' she cried; and going out into the garden she
called to the Mino:
'Stop it, don't bully. Stop hitting her.
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