It was
as if Birkin's whole physical intelligence interpenetrated into
Gerald's body, as if his fine, sublimated energy entered into the flesh
of the fuller man, like some potency, casting a fine net, a prison,
through the muscles into the very depths of Gerald's physical being.
So they wrestled swiftly, rapturously, intent and mindless at last, two
essential white figures working into a tighter closer oneness of
struggle, with a strange, octopus-like knotting and flashing of limbs
in the subdued light of the room; a tense white knot of flesh gripped
in silence between the walls of old brown books. Now and again came a
sharp gasp of breath, or a sound like a sigh, then the rapid thudding
of movement on the thickly-carpeted floor, then the strange sound of
flesh escaping under flesh. Often, in the white interlaced knot of
violent living being that swayed silently, there was no head to be
seen, only the swift, tight limbs, the solid white backs, the physical
junction of two bodies clinched into oneness.
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