He must set out at once and ask her, this moment. There was no moment
to spare.
He drifted on swiftly to Beldover, half-unconscious of his own
movement. He saw the town on the slope of the hill, not straggling, but
as if walled-in with the straight, final streets of miners' dwellings,
making a great square, and it looked like Jerusalem to his fancy. The
world was all strange and transcendent.
Rosalind opened the door to him. She started slightly, as a young girl
will, and said:
'Oh, I'll tell father.'
With which she disappeared, leaving Birkin in the hall, looking at some
reproductions from Picasso, lately introduced by Gudrun. He was
admiring the almost wizard, sensuous apprehension of the earth, when
Will Brangwen appeared, rolling down his shirt sleeves.
'Well,' said Brangwen, 'I'll get a coat.' And he too disappeared for a
moment. Then he returned, and opened the door of the drawing-room,
saying:
'You must excuse me, I was just doing a bit of work in the shed. Come
inside, will you.
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