He was tired too, when he had reached this
length of speculation. Suddenly his strange, strained attention gave
way, he could not attend to these mysteries any more. There was another
way, the way of freedom. There was the paradisal entry into pure,
single being, the individual soul taking precedence over love and
desire for union, stronger than any pangs of emotion, a lovely state of
free proud singleness, which accepted the obligation of the permanent
connection with others, and with the other, submits to the yoke and
leash of love, but never forfeits its own proud individual singleness,
even while it loves and yields.
There was the other way, the remaining way. And he must run to follow
it. He thought of Ursula, how sensitive and delicate she really was,
her skin so over-fine, as if one skin were wanting. She was really so
marvellously gentle and sensitive. Why did he ever forget it? He must
go to her at once. He must ask her to marry him. They must marry at
once, and so make a definite pledge, enter into a definite communion.
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