'How much longer will you stay here?' asked Birkin, glancing up at
Gerald's very red, almost blank face.
'Oh, I can't say,' Gerald replied. 'Till we get tired of it.'
'You're not afraid of the snow melting first?' asked Birkin.
Gerald laughed.
'Does it melt?' he said.
'Things are all right with you then?' said Birkin.
Gerald screwed up his eyes a little.
'All right?' he said. 'I never know what those common words mean. All
right and all wrong, don't they become synonymous, somewhere?'
'Yes, I suppose. How about going back?' asked Birkin.
'Oh, I don't know. We may never get back. I don't look before and
after,' said Gerald.
'NOR pine for what is not,' said Birkin.
Gerald looked into the distance, with the small-pupilled, abstract eyes
of a hawk.
'No. There's something final about this. And Gudrun seems like the end,
to me. I don't know--but she seems so soft, her skin like silk, her
arms heavy and soft. And it withers my consciousness, somehow, it burns
the pith of my mind.
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