And then it came to him
that it was his own heart beating. But that seemed impossible, the
noise was outside. No, it was inside himself, it was his own heart. And
the beating was painful, so strained, surcharged. He wondered if Gerald
heard it. He did not know whether he were standing or lying or falling.
When he realised that he had fallen prostrate upon Gerald's body he
wondered, he was surprised. But he sat up, steadying himself with his
hand and waiting for his heart to become stiller and less painful. It
hurt very much, and took away his consciousness.
Gerald however was still less conscious than Birkin. They waited dimly,
in a sort of not-being, for many uncounted, unknown minutes.
'Of course--' panted Gerald, 'I didn't have to be rough--with you--I
had to keep back--my force--'
Birkin heard the sound as if his own spirit stood behind him, outside
him, and listened to it. His body was in a trance of exhaustion, his
spirit heard thinly. His body could not answer. Only he knew his heart
was getting quieter.
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