'I think I am a rose of happiness.'
'Ready-made?' he asked ironically.
'No--real,' she said, hurt.
'If we are the end, we are not the beginning,' he said.
'Yes we are,' she said. 'The beginning comes out of the end.'
'After it, not out of it. After us, not out of us.'
'You are a devil, you know, really,' she said. 'You want to destroy our
hope. You WANT US to be deathly.'
'No,' he said, 'I only want us to KNOW what we are.'
'Ha!' she cried in anger. 'You only want us to know death.'
'You're quite right,' said the soft voice of Gerald, out of the dusk
behind.
Birkin rose. Gerald and Gudrun came up. They all began to smoke, in the
moments of silence. One after another, Birkin lighted their cigarettes.
The match flickered in the twilight, and they were all smoking
peacefully by the water-side. The lake was dim, the light dying from
off it, in the midst of the dark land. The air all round was
intangible, neither here nor there, and there was an unreal noise of
banjoes, or suchlike music.
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