'Come with me,' he said to Ursula, 'and then I will walk
home with you, when I've done this.'
He called at the water-keeper's cottage and took the key of the sluice.
They went through a little gate from the high-road, to the head of the
water, where was a great stone basin which received the overflow, and a
flight of stone steps descended into the depths of the water itself. At
the head of the steps was the lock of the sluice-gate.
The night was silver-grey and perfect, save for the scattered restless
sound of voices. The grey sheen of the moonlight caught the stretch of
water, dark boats plashed and moved. But Ursula's mind ceased to be
receptive, everything was unimportant and unreal.
Birkin fixed the iron handle of the sluice, and turned it with a
wrench. The cogs began slowly to rise. He turned and turned, like a
slave, his white figure became distinct. Ursula looked away. She could
not bear to see him winding heavily and laboriously, bending and rising
mechanically like a slave, turning the handle.
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