'All cold eggs,' said Gerald. 'In sleep, you dream, in drink you curse,
and in travel you yell at a porter. No, work and love are the two. When
you're not at work you should be in love.'
'Be it then,' said Birkin.
'Give me the object,' said Gerald. 'The possibilities of love exhaust
themselves.'
'Do they? And then what?'
'Then you die,' said Gerald.
'So you ought,' said Birkin.
'I don't see it,' replied Gerald. He took his hands out of his trousers
pockets, and reached for a cigarette. He was tense and nervous. He lit
the cigarette over a lamp, reaching forward and drawing steadily. He
was dressed for dinner, as usual in the evening, although he was alone.
'There's a third one even to your two,' said Birkin. 'Work, love, and
fighting. You forget the fight.'
'I suppose I do,' said Gerald. 'Did you ever do any boxing--?'
'No, I don't think I did,' said Birkin.
'Ay--' Gerald lifted his head and blew the smoke slowly into the air.
'Why?' said Birkin.
'Nothing.
Pages:
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559