'I didn't want it to be like this--I didn't want it to be like this,'
he cried to himself. Ursula could but think of the Kaiser's: 'Ich habe
as nicht gewollt.' She looked almost with horror on Birkin.
Suddenly he was silent. But he sat with his head dropped, to hide his
face. Then furtively he wiped his face with his fingers. Then suddenly
he lifted his head, and looked straight at Ursula, with dark, almost
vengeful eyes.
'He should have loved me,' he said. 'I offered him.'
She, afraid, white, with mute lips answered:
'What difference would it have made!'
'It would!' he said. 'It would.'
He forgot her, and turned to look at Gerald. With head oddly lifted,
like a man who draws his head back from an insult, half haughtily, he
watched the cold, mute, material face. It had a bluish cast. It sent a
shaft like ice through the heart of the living man. Cold, mute,
material! Birkin remembered how once Gerald had clutched his hand, with
a warm, momentaneous grip of final love. For one second--then let go
again, let go for ever.
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