I expect he is a
Jew--or part Jewish.'
'Probably,' said Gerald.
'He is a gnawing little negation, gnawing at the roots of life.'
'But why does anybody care about him?' cried Gerald.
'Because they hate the ideal also, in their souls. They want to explore
the sewers, and he's the wizard rat that swims ahead.'
Still Gerald stood and stared at the blind haze of snow outside.
'I don't understand your terms, really,' he said, in a flat, doomed
voice. 'But it sounds a rum sort of desire.'
'I suppose we want the same,' said Birkin. 'Only we want to take a
quick jump downwards, in a sort of ecstasy--and he ebbs with the
stream, the sewer stream.'
Meanwhile Gudrun and Ursula waited for the next opportunity to talk to
Loerke. It was no use beginning when the men were there. Then they
could get into no touch with the isolated little sculptor. He had to be
alone with them. And he preferred Ursula to be there, as a sort of
transmitter to Gudrun.
'Do you do nothing but architectural sculpture?' Gudrun asked him one
evening.
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