Then he would
have had her finally and for ever; there would be such a perfect
voluptuous finality.
Gudrun was unaware of what he was feeling, he seemed so quiet and
amiable, as usual. His amiability even made her feel brutal towards
him.
She went into his room when he was partially undressed. She did not
notice the curious, glad gleam of pure hatred, with which he looked at
her. She stood near the door, with her hand behind her.
'I have been thinking, Gerald,' she said, with an insulting
nonchalance, 'that I shall not go back to England.'
'Oh,' he said, 'where will you go then?'
But she ignored his question. She had her own logical statement to
make, and it must be made as she had thought it.
'I can't see the use of going back,' she continued. 'It is over between
me and you--'
She paused for him to speak. But he said nothing. He was only talking
to himself, saying 'Over, is it? I believe it is over. But it isn't
finished. Remember, it isn't finished. We must put some sort of a
finish on it.
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