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Lawrence, D. H. (David Herbert), 1885-1930

"Women in Love"


She traced with her hands the line of his loins and thighs, at the
back, and a living fire ran through her, from him, darkly. It was a
dark flood of electric passion she released from him, drew into
herself. She had established a rich new circuit, a new current of
passional electric energy, between the two of them, released from the
darkest poles of the body and established in perfect circuit. It was a
dark fire of electricity that rushed from him to her, and flooded them
both with rich peace, satisfaction.
'My love,' she cried, lifting her face to him, her eyes, her mouth open
in transport.
'My love,' he answered, bending and kissing her, always kissing her.
She closed her hands over the full, rounded body of his loins, as he
stooped over her, she seemed to touch the quick of the mystery of
darkness that was bodily him. She seemed to faint beneath, and he
seemed to faint, stooping over her. It was a perfect passing away for
both of them, and at the same time the most intolerable accession into
being, the marvellous fullness of immediate gratification,
overwhelming, out-flooding from the source of the deepest life-force,
the darkest, deepest, strangest life-source of the human body, at the
back and base of the loins.


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