They stopped, they discussed methods, they practised grips and throws,
they became accustomed to each other, to each other's rhythm, they got
a kind of mutual physical understanding. And then again they had a real
struggle. They seemed to drive their white flesh deeper and deeper
against each other, as if they would break into a oneness. Birkin had a
great subtle energy, that would press upon the other man with an
uncanny force, weigh him like a spell put upon him. Then it would pass,
and Gerald would heave free, with white, heaving, dazzling movements.
So the two men entwined and wrestled with each other, working nearer
and nearer. Both were white and clear, but Gerald flushed smart red
where he was touched, and Birkin remained white and tense. He seemed to
penetrate into Gerald's more solid, more diffuse bulk, to interfuse his
body through the body of the other, as if to bring it subtly into
subjection, always seizing with some rapid necromantic fore-knowledge
every motion of the other flesh, converting and counteracting it,
playing upon the limbs and trunk of Gerald like some hard wind.
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