He was suspended motionless, in an agony of inertia, like a machine
that is without power.
This was very bitter to Gerald, who had never known what boredom was,
who had gone from activity to activity, never at a loss. Now,
gradually, everything seemed to be stopping in him. He did not want any
more to do the things that offered. Something dead within him just
refused to respond to any suggestion. He cast over in his mind, what it
would be possible to do, to save himself from this misery of
nothingness, relieve the stress of this hollowness. And there were only
three things left, that would rouse him, make him live. One was to
drink or smoke hashish, the other was to be soothed by Birkin, and the
third was women. And there was no-one for the moment to drink with. Nor
was there a woman. And he knew Birkin was out. So there was nothing to
do but to bear the stress of his own emptiness.
When he saw Birkin his face lit up in a sudden, wonderful smile.
'By God, Rupert,' he said, 'I'd just come to the conclusion that
nothing in the world mattered except somebody to take the edge off
one's being alone: the right somebody.
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