It was
night, and silence. She imagined she could hear the stars. She imagined
distinctly she could hear the celestial, musical motion of the stars,
quite near at hand. She seemed like a bird flying amongst their
harmonious motion.
And she clung close to Birkin. Suddenly she realised she did not know
what he was thinking. She did not know where he was ranging.
'My love!' she said, stopping to look at him.
His face was pale, his eyes dark, there was a faint spark of starlight
on them. And he saw her face soft and upturned to him, very near. He
kissed her softly.
'What then?' he asked.
'Do you love me?' she asked.
'Too much,' he answered quietly.
She clung a little closer.
'Not too much,' she pleaded.
'Far too much,' he said, almost sadly.
'And does it make you sad, that I am everything to you?' she asked,
wistful. He held her close to him, kissing her, and saying, scarcely
audible:
'No, but I feel like a beggar--I feel poor.'
She was silent, looking at the stars now.
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