Ursula
sat on the grass, her mouth open in her singing, her eyes laughing as
if she thought it was a great joke, but a yellow light flashing up in
them, as she caught some of the unconscious ritualistic suggestion of
the complex shuddering and waving and drifting of her sister's white
form, that was clutched in pure, mindless, tossing rhythm, and a will
set powerful in a kind of hypnotic influence.
'My love is a high-born lady--She is-s-s--rather dark than shady--'
rang out Ursula's laughing, satiric song, and quicker, fiercer went
Gudrun in the dance, stamping as if she were trying to throw off some
bond, flinging her hands suddenly and stamping again, then rushing with
face uplifted and throat full and beautiful, and eyes half closed,
sightless. The sun was low and yellow, sinking down, and in the sky
floated a thin, ineffectual moon.
Ursula was quite absorbed in her song, when suddenly Gudrun stopped and
said mildly, ironically:
'Ursula!'
'Yes?' said Ursula, opening her eyes out of the trance.
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