Loerke
was kept away from Gudrun, to whom he wanted to speak, as by a hedge of
thorns, and he felt a sardonic ruthless hatred for this young
love-companion, Leitner, who was his penniless dependent. He mocked the
youth, with an acid ridicule, that made Leitner red in the face and
impotent with resentment.
Gerald, who had now got the dance perfectly, was dancing again with the
younger of the Professor's daughters, who was almost dying of virgin
excitement, because she thought Gerald so handsome, so superb. He had
her in his power, as if she were a palpitating bird, a fluttering,
flushing, bewildered creature. And it made him smile, as she shrank
convulsively between his hands, violently, when he must throw her into
the air. At the end, she was so overcome with prostrate love for him,
that she could scarcely speak sensibly at all.
Birkin was dancing with Ursula. There were odd little fires playing in
his eyes, he seemed to have turned into something wicked and
flickering, mocking, suggestive, quite impossible.
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