All this Gudrun knew in her subconsciousness, not in her mind. She knew
her next step-she knew what she should move on to, when she left
Gerald. She was afraid of Gerald, that he might kill her. But she did
not intend to be killed. A fine thread still united her to him. It
should not be HER death which broke it. She had further to go, a
further, slow exquisite experience to reap, unthinkable subtleties of
sensation to know, before she was finished.
Of the last series of subtleties, Gerald was not capable. He could not
touch the quick of her. But where his ruder blows could not penetrate,
the fine, insinuating blade of Loerke's insect-like comprehension
could. At least, it was time for her now to pass over to the other, the
creature, the final craftsman. She knew that Loerke, in his innermost
soul, was detached from everything, for him there was neither heaven
nor earth nor hell. He admitted no allegiance, he gave no adherence
anywhere. He was single and, by abstraction from the rest, absolute in
himself.
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