They were talking out
loudly about Birkin, ridiculing him on every point, particularly on his
marriage.
'Oh, DON'T make me think of Birkin,' Halliday was squealing. 'He makes
me perfectly sick. He is as bad as Jesus. "Lord, WHAT must I do to be
saved!"'
He giggled to himself tipsily.
'Do you remember,' came the quick voice of the Russian, 'the letters he
used to send. "Desire is holy-"'
'Oh yes!' cried Halliday. 'Oh, how perfectly splendid. Why, I've got
one in my pocket. I'm sure I have.'
He took out various papers from his pocket book.
'I'm sure I've--HIC! OH DEAR!--got one.'
Gerald and Gudrun were watching absorbedly.
'Oh yes, how perfectly--HIC!--splendid! Don't make me laugh, Pussum, it
gives me the hiccup. Hic!--' They all giggled.
'What did he say in that one?' the Pussum asked, leaning forward, her
dark, soft hair falling and swinging against her face. There was
something curiously indecent, obscene, about her small, longish, dark
skull, particularly when the ears showed.
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