He put
out his hand to steady himself. It touched the hand of Gerald, that was
lying out on the floor. And Gerald's hand closed warm and sudden over
Birkin's, they remained exhausted and breathless, the one hand clasped
closely over the other. It was Birkin whose hand, in swift response,
had closed in a strong, warm clasp over the hand of the other. Gerald's
clasp had been sudden and momentaneous.
The normal consciousness however was returning, ebbing back. Birkin
could breathe almost naturally again. Gerald's hand slowly withdrew,
Birkin slowly, dazedly rose to his feet and went towards the table. He
poured out a whiskey and soda. Gerald also came for a drink.
'It was a real set-to, wasn't it?' said Birkin, looking at Gerald with
darkened eyes.
'God, yes,' said Gerald. He looked at the delicate body of the other
man, and added: 'It wasn't too much for you, was it?'
'No. One ought to wrestle and strive and be physically close. It makes
one sane.'
'You do think so?'
'I do.
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