She was not at all sure that it was this mutual
unison in separateness that she wanted. She wanted unspeakable
intimacies. She wanted to have him, utterly, finally to have him as her
own, oh, so unspeakably, in intimacy. To drink him down--ah, like a
life-draught. She made great professions, to herself, of her
willingness to warm his foot-soles between her breasts, after the
fashion of the nauseous Meredith poem. But only on condition that he,
her lover, loved her absolutely, with complete self-abandon. And subtly
enough, she knew he would never abandon himself FINALLY to her. He did
not believe in final self-abandonment. He said it openly. It was his
challenge. She was prepared to fight him for it. For she believed in an
absolute surrender to love. She believed that love far surpassed the
individual. He said the individual was MORE than love, or than any
relationship. For him, the bright, single soul accepted love as one of
its conditions, a condition of its own equilibrium. She believed that
love was EVERYTHING.
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