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Lawrence, D. H. (David Herbert), 1885-1930

"Women in Love"

She had no separate consciousness for Gerald.
She held on to him as they went sheering down over the keen slope. She
felt as if her senses were being whetted on some fine grindstone, that
was keen as flame. The snow sprinted on either side, like sparks from a
blade that is being sharpened, the whiteness round about ran swifter,
swifter, in pure flame the white slope flew against her, and she fused
like one molten, dancing globule, rushed through a white intensity.
Then there was a great swerve at the bottom, when they swung as it were
in a fall to earth, in the diminishing motion.
They came to rest. But when she rose to her feet, she could not stand.
She gave a strange cry, turned and clung to him, sinking her face on
his breast, fainting in him. Utter oblivion came over her, as she lay
for a few moments abandoned against him.
'What is it?' he was saying. 'Was it too much for you?'
But she heard nothing.
When she came to, she stood up and looked round, astonished. Her face
was white, her eyes brilliant and large.


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