But, gathering herself together, she
replied:
'Oh--better dance than wail, certainly.'
'So I think.'
And they both felt the subterranean desire to let go, to fling away
everything, and lapse into a sheer unrestraint, brutal and licentious.
A strange black passion surged up pure in Gudrun. She felt strong. She
felt her hands so strong, as if she could tear the world asunder with
them. She remembered the abandonments of Roman licence, and her heart
grew hot. She knew she wanted this herself also--or something,
something equivalent. Ah, if that which was unknown and suppressed in
her were once let loose, what an orgiastic and satisfying event it
would be. And she wanted it, she trembled slightly from the proximity
of the man, who stood just behind her, suggestive of the same black
licentiousness that rose in herself. She wanted it with him, this
unacknowledged frenzy. For a moment the clear perception of this
preoccupied her, distinct and perfect in its final reality. Then she
shut it off completely, saying:
'We might as well go down to the lodge after Winifred--we can get in
the care there.
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