He knew that it only needed one
convulsion of his will for him to be able to turn upon himself also, to
close upon himself as a stone fixes upon itself, and is impervious,
self-completed, a thing isolated.
This knowledge threw him into a terrible chaos. Because, however much
he might mentally WILL to be immune and self-complete, the desire for
this state was lacking, and he could not create it. He could see that,
to exist at all, he must be perfectly free of Gudrun, leave her if she
wanted to be left, demand nothing of her, have no claim upon her.
But then, to have no claim upon her, he must stand by himself, in sheer
nothingness. And his brain turned to nought at the idea. It was a state
of nothingness. On the other hand, he might give in, and fawn to her.
Or, finally, he might kill her. Or he might become just indifferent,
purposeless, dissipated, momentaneous. But his nature was too serious,
not gay enough or subtle enough for mocking licentiousness.
A strange rent had been torn in him; like a victim that is torn open
and given to the heavens, so he had been torn apart and given to
Gudrun.
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