Her one motive was to avoid
actual contact with events. She only wrote out a long telegram to
Ursula and Birkin.
In the afternoon, however, she rose suddenly to look for Loerke. She
glanced with apprehension at the door of the room that had been
Gerald's. Not for worlds would she enter there.
She found Loerke sitting alone in the lounge. She went straight up to
him.
'It isn't true, is it?' she said.
He looked up at her. A small smile of misery twisted his face. He
shrugged his shoulders.
'True?' he echoed.
'We haven't killed him?' she asked.
He disliked her coming to him in such a manner. He raised his shoulders
wearily.
'It has happened,' he said.
She looked at him. He sat crushed and frustrated for the time being,
quite as emotionless and barren as herself. My God! this was a barren
tragedy, barren, barren.
She returned to her room to wait for Ursula and Birkin. She wanted to
get away, only to get away. She could not think or feel until she had
got away, till she was loosed from this position.
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