But he felt something icy gathering at his heart. This strange mood of
patience and innocence which had persisted in him for some days, was
passing away, he would be left again a prey to the horrible passions
and tortures.
So he came down reluctantly, snow-burned, snow-estranged, to the house
in the hollow, between the knuckles of the mountain tops. He saw its
lights shining yellow, and he held back, wishing he need not go in, to
confront those people, to hear the turmoil of voices and to feel the
confusion of other presences. He was isolated as if there were a vacuum
round his heart, or a sheath of pure ice.
The moment he saw Gudrun something jolted in his soul. She was looking
rather lofty and superb, smiling slowly and graciously to the Germans.
A sudden desire leapt in his heart, to kill her. He thought, what a
perfect voluptuous fulfilment it would be, to kill her. His mind was
absent all the evening, estranged by the snow and his passion. But he
kept the idea constant within him, what a perfect voluptuous
consummation it would be to strangle her, to strangle every spark of
life out of her, till she lay completely inert, soft, relaxed for ever,
a soft heap lying dead between his hands, utterly dead.
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