'You know,' he said, 'I always believed in love--true love. But where
does one find it nowadays?'
'I don't know,' said Birkin.
'Very rarely,' said Gerald. Then, after a pause, 'I've never felt it
myself--not what I should call love. I've gone after women--and been
keen enough over some of them. But I've never felt LOVE. I don't
believe I've ever felt as much LOVE for a woman, as I have for you--not
LOVE. You understand what I mean?'
'Yes. I'm sure you've never loved a woman.'
'You feel that, do you? And do you think I ever shall? You understand
what I mean?' He put his hand to his breast, closing his fist there, as
if he would draw something out. 'I mean that--that I can't express what
it is, but I know it.'
'What is it, then?' asked Birkin.
'You see, I can't put it into words. I mean, at any rate, something
abiding, something that can't change--'
His eyes were bright and puzzled.
'Now do you think I shall ever feel that for a woman?' he said,
anxiously.
Birkin looked at him, and shook his head.
Pages:
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575