He did not know his own power. He did not know how,
with his full, submerged, watchful eyes, he could look into her and see
her, what she was, see her secrets. He would only want her to be
herself--he knew her verily, with a subconscious, sinister knowledge,
devoid of illusions and hopes.
To Gudrun, there was in Loerke the rock-bottom of all life. Everybody
else had their illusion, must have their illusion, their before and
after. But he, with a perfect stoicism, did without any before and
after, dispensed with all illusion. He did not deceive himself in the
last issue. In the last issue he cared about nothing, he was troubled
about nothing, he made not the slightest attempt to be at one with
anything. He existed a pure, unconnected will, stoical and
momentaneous. There was only his work.
It was curious too, how his poverty, the degradation of his earlier
life, attracted her. There was something insipid and tasteless to her,
in the idea of a gentleman, a man who had gone the usual course through
school and university.
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