She pondered again. Then a queer little movement twitched her face.
'No,' she said, 'we don't want it. I'm sick of old things.'
'New ones as well,' he said.
They retraced their steps.
There--in front of some furniture, stood the young couple, the woman
who was going to have a baby, and the narrow-faced youth. She was fair,
rather short, stout. He was of medium height, attractively built. His
dark hair fell sideways over his brow, from under his cap, he stood
strangely aloof, like one of the damned.
'Let us give it to THEM,' whispered Ursula. 'Look they are getting a
home together.'
'I won't aid abet them in it,' he said petulantly, instantly
sympathising with the aloof, furtive youth, against the active,
procreant female.
'Oh yes,' cried Ursula. 'It's right for them--there's nothing else for
them.'
'Very well,' said Birkin, 'you offer it to them. I'll watch.'
Ursula went rather nervously to the young couple, who were discussing
an iron washstand--or rather, the man was glancing furtively and
wonderingly, like a prisoner, at the abominable article, whilst the
woman was arguing.
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