'
'Don't you think it is?' she asked.
'No. That's what it is to be a rabbit.'
There was a queer, faint, obscene smile over his face. She looked at
him and saw him, and knew that he was initiate as she was initiate.
This thwarted her, and contravened her, for the moment.
'God be praised we aren't rabbits,' she said, in a high, shrill voice.
The smile intensified a little, on his face.
'Not rabbits?' he said, looking at her fixedly.
Slowly her face relaxed into a smile of obscene recognition.
'Ah Gerald,' she said, in a strong, slow, almost man-like way. '-All
that, and more.' Her eyes looked up at him with shocking nonchalance.
He felt again as if she had torn him across the breast, dully, finally.
He turned aside.
'Eat, eat my darling!' Winifred was softly conjuring the rabbit, and
creeping forward to touch it. It hobbled away from her. 'Let its mother
stroke its fur then, darling, because it is so mysterious-'
CHAPTER XIX.
MOONY
After his illness Birkin went to the south of France for a time.
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