He was afraid she would deny him before it was finished. Like a
child at the breast, he cleaved intensely to her, and she could not put
him away. And his seared, ruined membrane relaxed, softened, that which
was seared and stiff and blasted yielded again, became soft and
flexible, palpitating with new life. He was infinitely grateful, as to
God, or as an infant is at its mother's breast. He was glad and
grateful like a delirium, as he felt his own wholeness come over him
again, as he felt the full, unutterable sleep coming over him, the
sleep of complete exhaustion and restoration.
But Gudrun lay wide awake, destroyed into perfect consciousness. She
lay motionless, with wide eyes staring motionless into the darkness,
whilst he was sunk away in sleep, his arms round her.
She seemed to be hearing waves break on a hidden shore, long, slow,
gloomy waves, breaking with the rhythm of fate, so monotonously that it
seemed eternal. This endless breaking of slow, sullen waves of fate
held her life a possession, whilst she lay with dark, wide eyes looking
into the darkness.
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