She took a peculiar delight in this
conversation. It was full of odd, fantastic expression, of double
meanings, of evasions, of suggestive vagueness. It was a real physical
pleasure to her to make this thread of conversation out of the
different-coloured stands of three languages.
And all the while they two were hovering, hesitating round the flame of
some invisible declaration. He wanted it, but was held back by some
inevitable reluctance. She wanted it also, but she wanted to put it
off, to put it off indefinitely, she still had some pity for Gerald,
some connection with him. And the most fatal of all, she had the
reminiscent sentimental compassion for herself in connection with him.
Because of what HAD been, she felt herself held to him by immortal,
invisible threads-because of what HAD been, because of his coming to
her that first night, into her own house, in his extremity, because--
Gerald was gradually overcome with a revulsion of loathing for Loerke.
He did not take the man seriously, he despised him merely, except as he
felt in Gudrun's veins the influence of the little creature.
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