Chapter 1 of Women in Love. Ursula and Gudrun Brangwen sat one morning in the window-bay of their father's house in Beldover, working and talking.  They were mostly silent, talking as their thoughts strayed through their minds. "'Ursula,' said Gudrun, "'don't you really want to get married?' Ursula laid her embroidery in her lap and looked up. Her face was calm and considerate.' "'I don't know,' she replied. "'It depends how you mean.' Gudrun was slightly taken aback. She watched her sister for some moments. "'Well,' she said ironically, "'it usually means one thing. But don't you think any how you'd be?' she darkened slightly. "'In a better position than you are in now.'" A shadow came over Ursula's face. "'I might,' she said. "'But I'm not sure.'" Again Gudrun paused, slightly irritated. She wanted to be quite definite. "'You don't think one needs the experience of having been married?' she asked. "'Do you think it need be an experience?' replied Ursula. "'Bound to be in some way or other,' said Gudrun coolly, possibly undesirable, but bound to be an experience of some sort.' "'Not really,' said Ursula. "'More likely to be the end of experience.'" Gudrun sat very still to attend to this. "'Of course,' she said. "'There's that to consider.'" This brought the conversation to a close. Gudrun almost angrily took up her rubber and began to rub out part of her drawing. Ursula stitched absorbedly. "'You wouldn't consider a good offer?' asked Gudrun. "'I think I've rejected several,' said Ursula. "'Really?' Gudrun flushed dark. "'But anything really worthwhile? Have you really?' "'A thousand a year and an awfully nice man. I liked him awfully,' said Ursula. "'Really? But weren't you fearfully tempted?' "'In the abstract, but not in the concrete,' said Ursula. "'When it comes to the point one isn't even tempted. "'Oh, if I were tempted, I'd marry like a shot. I'm only tempted not to.' The faces of both sisters suddenly lit up with amusement. "'Isn't this an amazing thing?' cried Gudrun. "'How strong the temptation is not to!' They both laughed, looking at each other. In their hearts they were frightened. There was a long pause whilst Ursula stitched and Gudrun went on with her sketch. The sisters were women, Ursula 26 and Gudrun 25. But both had the remote, virgin look of modern girls, sisters of Artemis rather than of Hebe. Gudrun was very beautiful, passive, soft-skinned, soft-limbed. She wore a dress of dark blue silky stuff, with ruches of blue and green linen lace in the neck and sleeves, and she had emerald green stockings. Her look of confidence and diffidence contrasted with Ursula's sensitive expectancy. The provincial people, intimidated by Gudrun's perfect son foie and exclusive bareness of manner, said of her, "'She is a smart woman.'" She had just come back from London, where she had spent several years working at an art school as a student and living a studio life. "'I was hoping now for a man to come along,' Gudrun said, suddenly catching her underlip between her teeth and making a strange grimace, half the sly smiling, half anguish.' Ursula was afraid. "'So you have come home expecting him here?' she laughed. "'Oh, my dear!' cried Gudrun strident. "'I wouldn't go out of my way to look for him.  Then she looked searchingly at Ursula, as if to probe her. "'Don't you find yourself getting bored?' she asked of her sister. "'Don't you find that things fail to materialise? Nothing materialises. Everything withers in the bud.'" "'What withers in the bud?' asked Ursula. "'Oh, everything, oneself, things in general.' There was a pause whilst each sister vaguely considered her fate. "'It does frighten one,' said Ursula. And again there was a pause. "'But do you hope to get anywhere by just marrying?' "'It seems to be the inevitable next step,' said Gudrun. Ursula pondered this with a little bitterness. She was a classmistress herself, in Willie Green Grammar School, as she had been for some years. "'I know,' she said. "'It seems like that when one thinks in the abstract. But really imagine it. Imagine any man one knows. Imagine him coming home to one every evening and saying hello and giving one a kiss.' There was a blank pause. "'Yes,' said Gudrun in a narrowed voice. "'It's just impossible. The man makes it impossible.' "'Of course there's children,' said Ursula doubtfully. Gudrun's face hardened. "'Do you really want children, Ursula?' she asked coldly. A daffled, baffled look came on Ursula's face. "'One feels it is still beyond one,' she said. "'Do you feel like that?' asked Gudrun. "'I get no feeling whatever from the thought of bearing children.' Gudrun looked at Ursula with a mask-like, expressionless face.' Ursula knitted her brows. "'Perhaps it isn't genuine,' she faltered. "'Perhaps one doesn't really want them in one's soul, only superficially.' A hardness came over Gudrun's face. She did not want to be too definite.' "'When one thinks of other people's children,' said Ursula. Again Gudrun looked at her sister, almost hostile. "'Exactly,' she said, to close the conversation.' The two sisters worked on in silence, Ursula having always that strange brightness of an essential flame that is caught, meshed, contravened. She lived a good deal by herself, to herself, working, passing on from day to day, and always thinking, trying to lay hold on life, to grasp it in her own understanding. Her active living was suspended, but underneath, in the darkness, something was coming to pass, if only she could break through the last entanglement. She seemed to try and put her hands out, like an infant in the womb, and she could not, not yet. Still, she had a strange prescience, an intimation of something yet to come. She laid down her work and looked at her sister. She thought Gudrun so charming, so infinitely charming, in her softness, and her fine exquisite richness of texture, and delicacy of line. There was a certain playfulness about her too, such a pecancy of ironic suggestion, such an untouched reserve. Ursula admired her with all her soul. "'Why did you come home, Prune?' she asked. Gudrun knew she was being admired. She sat back from her drawing, and looked at Ursula from under her finely curved lashes. "'Why did I come back, Ursula?' she repeated. I have asked myself a thousand times. And don't you know?' "'Yes, I think I do. I think my coming back home was just reculer pour mieux sauter.' And she looked, with a long, slow look of knowledge, at Ursula. "'I know,' cried Ursula, looking slightly dazzled and falsified, and as if she did not know. But where can one jump to?' "'Oh, it doesn't matter,' said Gudrun, somewhat superbly. If one jumps over the edge, one is bound to land somewhere. "'But isn't it very risky?' asked Ursula.  "'Ah!' she said, laughing. "'What is it all but words?' And so again she closed the conversation, but Ursula was still brooding. "'And how do you find home? Now you have come back to it?' she asked. Gudrun paused for some moments coldly before answering. Then in a cold, truthful voice she said, "'I find myself completely out of it.' "'And father?' Gudrun looked at Ursula almost with resentment as if brought to bay. "'I haven't thought about him. I've refrained,' she said coldly. "'Yes,' wavered Ursula, and the conversation was really at an end. The sisters found themselves confronted by a void, a terrifying chasm, as if they had looked over the edge. They worked on in silence for some time. Gudrun's cheek was flushed with repressed emotion. She resented its having been called into being. "'Shall we go out and look at that wedding?' she asked at length, and a voice that was too casual. "'Yes,' cried Ursula, too eagerly, throwing aside her sewing, and leaping up as if to escape something. Thus betraying the tension of the situation, and causing a friction of dislike to go over Gudrun's nerves. As she went upstairs, Ursula was aware of the house, of her home round about her. And she loathed it. The sordid, too familiar place. She was afraid at the depth of her feeling against the home, the milieu, the whole atmosphere and condition of this obsolete life. Her feeling frightened her. The two girls were soon walking swiftly down the main road of Beldover. A wide street, part shops, part dwelling-houses, utterly formless and sordid without poverty. Gudrun, new from her life in Chelsea and Sussex, shrank cruelly from this amorphous ugliness of a small colliery town in the Midlands. Yet forward she went through the whole sordid gamut of pettiness, the long amorphous gritty street. She was exposed to every stare. She passed on through a stretch of torment. It was strange that she should have chosen to come back and test the full effect of this shapeless, barren ugliness upon herself. Why had she wanted to submit herself to it? Did she still want to submit herself to it? The insufferable torture of these ugly, meaningless people, this defaced countryside. She felt like a beetle toiling in the dust. She was filled with repulsion.  No one thought to be ashamed. No one was ashamed of it all. It is like a country in an underworld, said Gudrun. The colliers bring it above ground with them, shovel it up. Ursula, it's marvellous. It's really marvellous. It's really wonderful. Another world. The people are all ghouls, and everything is ghostly. Everything is a ghoulish replica of the real world. A replica, a ghoul, all soiled, everything sordid. It's like being mad, Ursula. The sisters were crossing a black path through a dark, soiled field. On the left was a large landscape, a valley with collieries, and opposite hills was cornfields and woods, all blackened with distance, as if seen through a veil of crepe. White and black smoke rose up in steady columns, magic within the dark air. Near at hand came the long rows of dwellings, approaching curved up the hill-slope, in straight lines along the brow of the hill. They were of darkened red brick, brittle, with dark slate roofs. The path on which the sisters walked was black, trodden in by the feet of the recurrent colliers, and bounded from the field by iron fences. The style that led again into the road was rubbed shiny by the mould-skins of the passing-miners. Now the two girls were going between some rows of dwellings of the poorer sort. Women, their arms folded over their coarse aprons, standing gossiping at the end of their block, stared after the Brangwyn sisters, with that long, unwearying stare of aborigines. Children called out names. Gudrun went on her way half dazed. If this were human life, if these were human beings living in a complete world, then what was her own world outside? She was aware of her grass-green stockings, her large grass-green velour hat, her full, soft coat, of a strong blue colour. And she felt, as if she were treading in the air, quite unstable. Her heart was contracted, as if at any minute she might be precipitated to the ground she was afraid. She clung to Ursula, who, through long usage, was enured to this violation of a dark, uncreated, hostile world. But all the time, her heart was crying, as if in the midst of some ordeal, I want to go back, I want to go away, I want not to know it, not to know that this exists. Yet she must go forward. Ursula could feel her suffering.  It bewilders me, stammered Gudrun. You won't stay long, replied Ursula. And Gudrun went along, grasping at release. They drew away from the colliery region, over the curve of the hill, into the purer country of the other side, towards Willie Green. Still, the faint glamour of blackness persisted over the fields and the wooded hills, and seemed darkly to gleam in the air. It was a spring day, chill with snatches of sunshine. Yellow cellandines showed out from the hedge-bottoms, and in the cottage gardens of Willie Green, current bushes were breaking into leaf, and little flowers were coming white on the grey elism that hung over the stone walls. Turning, they passed down the high road that went between high banks towards the church. There, in the lowest bend of the road, low under the trees, stood a little group of expectants, people waiting to see the wedding. The daughter of the chief mine-owner of the district, Thomas Cry, was getting married to a naval officer. Let us go back, said Gudrun, swerving away. There are all those people, and she hung wavering in the road. Never mind them, said Ursula. They're all right. They all know me. They don't matter. But must we go through them? asked Gudrun. They're quite all right, really, said Ursula, going forward. And together the two sisters approached the group of uneasy, watchful, common people. They were chiefly women, Collier's wives of the more shiftless sort. They had watchful, underworld faces. The two sisters held themselves tense, and went straight towards the gate. The women made way for them, but barely sufficient as if grudging to yield ground. The sisters passed in silence through the stone gateway and up the steps on the red carpet, a policeman estimating their progress. What price the stockings, said a voice at the back of Gudrun. A sudden fierce anger swept over the girl violent and murderous. She would have liked them all annihilated, cleared away, so that the world was left clear for her. How she hated walking up the churchyard path along the red carpet, continuing in motion in their sight. I won't go into the church, she said suddenly, with such final decision that Ursula immediately halted, turned round and branched off, up a small side-path which led to the little private gate of the grammar school, whose grounds are joined those of the church. Just inside the gate of the school's shrubbery, outside the churchyard, Ursula sat down for a moment on the low stone wall under the laurel bushes to rest. Behind her, the large red building of the school rose up peacefully, the windows all open for the holiday. Over the shrubs before her were the pale roofs and tower of the old church. The sisters were hidden by the foliage. Gudrun sat down in silence.  She was regretting bitterly that she had ever come back. Ursula looked at her and thought how amazingly beautiful she was flushed with discomforture. But she caused a constraint over Ursula's nature, a certain weariness. Ursula wished to be alone, freed from the tightness the enclosure of Gudrun's presence. Are we going to stay here? asked Gudrun. I was only resting a minute, said Ursula, getting up as if rebuked. We will stand in the corner by the Fivescourt. We shall see everything from there. For the moment the sunshine fell brightly into the churchyard. There was a vague scent of sap and of spring, perhaps of violets from off the graves. Some white daisies were out, bright as angels. In the air the unfolding leaves of a copper beach were blood red. Punked truly at eleven o'clock the carriages began to arrive. There was a stir in the crowd at the gate, a concentration as a carriage drove up, wedding guests were mounting up the steps and passing along the red carpet to the church. They were all gained excited because the sun was shining. Gudrun watched them closely with objective curiosity. She saw each one as a complete figure like a character in a book or a subject in a picture or a marionette in a theatre, a finished creation. She loved to recognise those characteristics to place them in their true light, give them their own surroundings, settle them for ever as they passed before her along the path of the church. She knew them. They were finished, sealed and stamped and finished with for her. There was none that had anything unknown, unresolved, until the cries themselves began to appear. There was something not quite so pre-concluded. There came the mother, Mrs. Cry, with her eldest son Gerald. She was a queer, unkempt figure in spite of the attempts that had obviously been made to bring her into line for the day. Her face was pale, yellowish, with a clear, transparent skin. She leaned forward, rather. Her features were strongly marked, handsome, with a tense, unseeming predictive look. Her colourless hair was untidy, wisps floating down onto her sack coat of dark blue silk from under her blue silk hat.  Her son was of a fair suntand type, rather above the middle height, well made and almost exaggeratedly well-dressed. But about him also was the strange, guarded look, the unconscious glisten, as if he did not belong to the same creation as the people about him. Gudrun lighted on him at once. There was something northern about him that magnetised her. In his clear northern flesh and his fair hair was a glisten, like sunshine refracted through crystals of ice. And he looked so new, unbroached, pure as an Arctic thing. Perhaps he was thirty years old, perhaps more. His gleaming beauty, maleness, like a young, good-humoured smiling wolf, did not blind her to the significant stileness in his bearing, the lurking danger of his unsubdued temper. His totem is the wolf, she repeated to herself. His mother is an old unbroken wolf. And then she experienced a keen paroxysm, a transport, as if she had made some incredible discovery known to nobody else on earth. A strange transport took possession of her. All her veins were in a paroxysm of violent sensation. God, God, she exclaimed to herself, what is this? And then, a moment after, she was saying assuredly, I shall know more of that man. She was tortured with desire to see him again, a nostalgia, a necessity to see him again. To make sure it was not all a mistake, that she was not deluding herself, that she really felt this strange and overwhelming sensation on his account, this knowledge of him in her essence, this powerful apprehension of him. Am I really singled out for him in some way? Is there really some pale gold arctic light that envelops only us two? She asked herself and she could not believe it. She remained in amuse, scarcely conscious of what was going on around. The bridesmaids were here and yet the bridegroom had not come. Ursula wondered if something was amiss and if the wedding would yet all go wrong. She felt troubled as if it rested upon her. The bridesmaids had arrived. Ursula watched them come up the steps. One of them she knew, a tall slow reluctant woman with a weight of fair hair and a pale long face. This was Hermione Roddis, a friend of the cries. Now she came along with her head held up balancing an enormous flat hat of pale yellow velvet on which were streaks of rich feathers, natural and grey. She drifted forward as if scarcely conscious her long blanched face lifted up, not to see the world. She was rich. She wore a dress of silky frail velvet of pale yellow colour and she carried a lot of small rose-coloured sickle-mans. Her shoes and stockings were of like the feathers on her hat. Her hair was heavy. She drifted along with the peculiar fixity of the hips, a strange unwilling motion. She was impressive in her lovely pale yellow and brownish rose, yet macabre, something repulsive. People were silent when she passed, impressed, roused, wanting to jeer yet, for some reason, silenced. Her long pale face that she carried lifted up, somewhat in the rosetti fashion, seemed almost drugged as if a strange mass of thoughts coiled in the darkness within her and she was never allowed to escape. Ursula watched her with fascination. She knew her a little. She was the most remarkable woman in the Midlands. Her father was a derbyshire baronet of the old school. She was a woman of the new school, full of intellectuality and heavy, nerve-worn with consciousness. She was passionately interested in reform. Her soul was given up to the public cause, but she was a man's woman. She was a manly world that held her. She had various intimacies of mind and soul with various men of capacity. Ursula knew among these men only Rupert Birkin, who was one of the school inspectors of the county. But Gudrun had met others in London. Moving with her artist friends in different kinds of society, she had met Hermione twice, but they did not take to each other. It would be queer to meet again down here in the Midlands, where their social standing was so diverse, after they had known each other on terms of equality in the houses of sundry acquaintances in town. For Gudrun had been a social success and had her friends among the slack aristocracy that keeps touch with the arts. Hermione knew herself to be well-dressed. She knew herself to be the social equal, if not far the superior of anyone she was likely to meet in Willie Green. She knew she was accepted in the world of culture and of intellect. She was a couture-träger, a medium for the culture of ideas. With all that was biased, whether in society or in thought or in public action or even in art she was at one. She moved among the foremost, at home with them. No one could put her down. No one could make mock of her because she stood among the first. And those that were against her were below her either in rank or in wealth or in high association of thought and progress of understanding. So she was invulnerable. All her life she had sought to make herself invulnerable, unassailable, beyond reach of the world's judgment. And yet her soul was tortured, exposed, even walking up the path to the church confident as she was that in every respect she stood beyond all vulgar judgment, knowing perfectly that her appearance was complete and perfect according to the first standards. Yet she suffered a torture under her confidence and her pride, feeling herself exposed to wounds and to mockery and to despite. She always felt vulnerable, vulnerable. There was always a secret chink in her armour. She did not know herself what it was. It was a lack of robust self. She had no natural sufficiency. There was a terrible void, a lack, a deficiency of being within her. And she wanted someone to close up this deficiency, to close it up forever. She craved for Rupert Burkin. When he was there she felt complete. She was sufficient, whole. For the rest of time she was established on the sand, built over a chasm. And in spite of all her vanity and securities any common maid servant of positive, robust temper could fling her down this bottomless pit of insufficiency by the slightest movement of jeering or contempt. And all the while the pensive, tortured woman piled up her own defences of aesthetic knowledge and culture and world visions and disinterestedness. Yet she could never stop up the terrible gap of insufficiency. If only Burkin would form a close and abiding connection with her, she would be safe during this fretful voyage of life. He could make her sound and triumphant, triumphant over the very angels of heaven. If only he would do it. But she was tortured with fear, with misgiving. She made herself beautiful. She strove so hard to come to that degree of beauty and advantage when he should be convinced. But always there was a deficiency. He was perverse, too. He fought her off. He always fought her off. The more she strove to bring him to her, the more he battled her back. And there had been lovers now for years. Oh, it was so weary, so aching. She was so tired. But still she believed in herself. She knew he was trying to leave her. She knew he was trying to break away from her finally to be free. But still she believed in her strength to keep him. She believed in her own higher knowledge. His own knowledge was high. She was the central touchstone of truth. She only needed his conjunction with her. And this conjunction with her which was his highest fulfilment also, with the perverseness of a willful child he wanted to deny. With the willfulness of an obstinate child he wanted to break the holy connection that was between them. He would be at this wedding. He was to be groom's man. He would be in the church waiting. He would know when she came. She shuddered with nervous apprehension and desire as she went through the church door. He would be there. Surely he would see how beautiful her dress was. Surely he would see how she had made herself beautiful for him. He would understand. He would be able to see how she was made for him. The first. She was, for him, the highest. Surely at last he would be able to accept his highest fate. He would not deny her. In a little convulsion of too tired yearning she entered the church and looked slowly along her cheeks for him. Her slender body convulsed with agitation. As best man he would be standing beside the altar. Slowly deferring in her certainty. And then he was not there. A terrible storm came over her as if she were drowning. She was possessed by a devastating hopelessness and she approached mechanically to the altar. Never had she known such a pang of utter and final hopelessness. It was beyond death. So utterly null. Desert. The bridegroom and the groom'sman had not yet come. There was a growing consternation outside. Ursula felt almost responsible. She could not bear it that the bride should arrive and no groom. The wedding must not be a fiasco. It must not. But here was the bride's carriage adorned with ribbons and cockades. They vetted to their destination at the church gate, a laughter in the whole movement. Here was the quick of all laughter and pleasure. The door of the carriage was thrown open to let out the very blossom of the day. The people on the roadway murmured faintly with the discontented murmuring of a crowd. The father stepped out first into the air of the morning like a shadow. A thin, care-worn man with a thin black beard that was touched with grey. He waited at the door of the carriage patiently, self-obliterated. In the opening of the doorway was a shower of fine foliage and flowers, a whiteness of satin and lace and a sound of a gay voice saying, how do I get out? A ripple of satisfaction ran through the expectant people. They pressed near to receive her looking with zest at the stooping blond head with its flower buds and at the delicate white tentative foot that was reaching down to the step of the carriage. There was a sudden foaming rush and the bride like a sudden surf rush floating all white beside her father in the morning shadow of trees, her veil flowing with laughter. That's done it, she said. She put her hand on the arm of her care-worn, sallow father and frothing her light draperies preceded over the eternal red carpet. Her father mute and yellowish his black beard making him look more care-worn mounted the steps stiffly as if his spirit were absent. But the laughing mist of the bride went along with him, undiminished. And no bridegroom had arrived. It was intolerable for her. Ursula, her heart strained with anxiety was watching the hill beyond the white descending road that should give sight of him. There was a carriage. It was running. It had just come into sight. Yes, it was he. Ursula turned towards the bride and the people and from her place of vantage gave an inarticulate cry. She wanted to warn them that he was coming. But her cry was inarticulate and inaudible and she flushed deeply between her desire and her wintzy confusion. The carriage rattled down the hill and drew near. There was a shout from the people. The bride, who had just reached turned round gaily to see what was the commotion. She saw a confusion among the people, a cab pulling up and her lover dropping out of the carriage and dodging among the horses and into the crowd. Tips! Tips! She cried in her sudden mocking excitement standing high on the path in the sunlight and waving her bouquet. He, dodging with his hat in his hand, had not heard. Tips! she cried again, looking down to him. He glanced up, unaware and saw the bride and her father standing on the path above him.  He hesitated for a moment. Then he gathered himself together for a leap to overtake her. Ah! came her strange intakean cry as of the reflex she started turned and fell she started, turned and fled scudding with an unthinkable swift beating of her white feet and fraying of her white garments towards the church. Like a hound the young man was after her leaping the steps and swinging past her father his supple haunt she's working like those of a hound that bears down on the quarry. Aye! after her cried the vulgar women below carried suddenly into the sport. She, her flowers shaken from her like froth was steadying herself to turn the angle of the church. She glanced behind and with a wild cry of laughter and challenge veered, poised and was gone beyond the grey stone buttress. In another instant the bridegroom bent forward as he ran had caught the angle of the silent stone with his hand and had swung himself out of sight his supple strong loins vanishing in pursuit. Instantly cries and exclamations of excitement burst from the crowd at the gate and then Ursula noticed again the dark, rather stooping figure of Mr. Cry waiting suspended on the path watching with expressionless face the flight to the church. It was over and he turned round to look behind him at the figure of Rupert Birkin who at once came forward and joined him. We'll bring up the rear, said Birkin a faint smile on his face. Aye! replied the father leconically and the two men turned together up the path. Birkin was as thin as Mr. Cry pale and ill looking. His figure was narrow but nicely made. He went with a slight trail of one foot which came only from self-consciousness. Although he was dressed correctly for his part yet there was an innate incongruity which caused a slight ridiculousness in his appearance. His nature was clever and separate he did not fit at all in the conventional location yet he subordinated himself to the common idea. Travesty himself. He effected to be quite ordinary perfectly and marvelously commonplace and he did it so well taking the tone of his surroundings adjusting himself quickly to his interlocutor and his circumstance that he achieved a very similitude of ordinary commonplaceness that usually propitiated his onlookers at the moment disarmed them from attacking his singleness. Now he spoke quite easily and pleasantly to Mr. Cry as they walked along the path. He played with situations like a man on a tightrope but always on a tightrope pretending nothing but ease. I'm sorry we're so late he was saying we couldn't find a buttonhook for a long time to button our boots but you were to the moment we are usually at a time said Mr. Cry and I'm always late said Birkin but today I was really punctual only accidentally not so I'm sorry the two men were gone there was nothing more to see for the time Ursula was left thinking about Birkin he peaked her and annoyed her she wanted to know him more she had spoken with him once or twice but only in his official capacity as inspector she thought he seemed to acknowledge some kinship between her and him a natural tacit understanding a using of the same language but there had been no time for the understanding to develop and something kept her from him as well as attracted her to him there was a certain hostility a hidden ultimate reserve in him cold and inaccessible yet she wanted to know him what do you think of Rupert Birkin she asked a little reluctantly of Gudrun she did not want to discuss him what do I think of Rupert Birkin repeated Gudrun I think he's attractive decidedly attractive what I can't stand about him is his way with other people his way of treating any little fools as if she were his greatest consideration one feels so awfully sold oneself why does he do it said Ursula he has no real critical faculty of people at all events said Gudrun I tell you he treats any little fool as he treats me or you and it's such an insult oh it is said Ursula one must discriminate one must discriminate repeated Gudrun but he's a wonderful chap in other respects a marvellous personality but you can't trust him yes, said Ursula vaguely she was always forced to assent to Gudrun's pronouncements even when she was not in a chord altogether the sisters sat silent waiting for the wedding party to come out Gudrun was impatient of talk she wanted to think about Gerald Cry she wanted to see if the strong feelings she had got from him were real she wanted to have herself ready inside the church the wedding was going on Hermione Roddis was thinking only of Birkin he stood near her she seemed to gravitate physically towards him she wanted to stand touching him she could hardly be sure if he was near her if she did not touch him yet she stood subjected to the service she had suffered so bitterly when he did not come that still she was dazed still she was gnawed as by a neuralgia tormented by his potential absence from her she had waited him in a faint delirium of nervous torture as she stood bearing herself pensively the rapt look on her face that seemed spiritual like the angels came from torture gave her a certain poignancy that tore his heart with pity he saw her bowed head her rapt face the face of an almost demoniacal ecstatic feeling him looking she lifted her face and sought his eyes her own beautiful grey eyes flaring him a great signal but he avoided her look she sank her head in torment and shame the gnawing at her heart going on and he too was tortured with shame and ultimate dislike and with acute pity for her because he did not want to meet her eyes he did not want to receive her flare of recognition the bride and bridegroom were married the party went into the vestry Hermione crowded involuntarily up against work in to touch him and he endured it outside Gudrun and Ursula listened for their fathers playing on the organ he would enjoy playing a wedding march now the married pair were coming the bells were ringing making the air shake Ursula wondered if the trees and the flowers could fill the vibration and what they thought of it this strange motion in the air the bride was quite demure on the arm of the bridegroom who stared up into the sky before him shutting and opening his eyes unconsciously as if he were neither here nor there he looked rather comical blinking and trying to be in the scene when emotionally he was violated by his exposure to a crowd he looked a typical naval officer manly and up to his duty Birkin came with Hermione she had a wrapped triumphant look like the fallen angels restored yet still subtly demaniacal now she held Birkin by the arm and he was expressionless neutralized possessed by her as if it were his fate without question Gerald cry came fair good-looking healthy with a great reserve of energy he was erect and complete there was a strange stealth glistening through his amiable almost happy appearance Gudrun rose sharply and went away she could not bear it she wanted to be alone to know this strange sharp inoculation that had changed the whole temper of her blood end of chapter 1 recording by Ruth Golding chapter 2 of women in love this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Ruth Golding women in love by D. H. Lawrence chapter 2 shortlands the Brangwins went home to belldover the wedding party gathered at shortlands the cries home it was a long low old house a sort of manna farm that spread along the top of a slope just beyond the narrow little lake of willy water shortlands looked across a sloping meadow that might be a park because of the large solitary trees that stood here and there across the water of the narrow lake at the wooded hill that successfully hid the colliery valley beyond but did not quite hide the rising smoke nevertheless the scene was rural and picturesque very peaceful and the house had a charm of its own it was crowded now with the family and the wedding guests the father who was not well withdrew to rest Gerald was host he stood in the homely entrance hall friendly and easy attending to the men he seemed to take pleasure in his social functions he smiled and was abundant in hospitality the women wandered about in a little confusion chased hither and thither by the three married daughters of the house all the while there could be heard the characteristic imperious voice of one cry woman or another calling Helen come here a minute Marjorie I want you here oh I say Mrs. Witham there was a great rustling of skirts swift glimpses of smartly dressed women a child danced through the hall and back again a maid servant came and went hurriedly meanwhile the men stood in calm little groups chatting smoking pretending to pay no heed to the rustling animation of the women's world but they could not really talk because of the glassy ravel of women's excited cold laughter and running voices they waited uneasy suspended rather bored but Gerald remained as if genial and happy unaware that he was waiting or unoccupied knowing himself the very pivot of the occasion suddenly Mrs. Cry came noiselessly into the room peering about with her strong clear face she was still wearing her hat too silk what is it mother? said Gerald nothing nothing she answered vaguely and she went straight towards Birkin who was talking to a cry brother-in-law how do you do Mr. Birkin she said in her low voice that seemed to take no count of her guests she held out her hand to him oh Mrs. Cry Birkin in his readily changing voice I couldn't come to you before I don't know half the people here she said in her low voice her son-in-law moved uneasily away and you don't like strangers laughed Birkin I myself can never see why one should take account of people just because they happen to be in the room with one why should I know they're there why indeed why indeed said Mrs. Cry in her low tense voice except that they are there I don't know people whom I find in the house the children introduced them to me mother this is Mr. So-and-so I am no further what has Mr. So-and-so to do with his own name and what have I to do with either him or his name she looked up at Birkin she startled him he was flattered too that she came to talk to him for she took hardly any notice of anybody he looked down at her tense clear face with its heavy features but he was afraid to look into her heavy-seeing blue eyes he noticed instead how her hair looped in slack, slovenly strands over her rather beautiful ears which were not quite clean neither was her neck perfectly clean even in that he seemed to belong to her rather than to the rest of the company though he thought to himself he was always well washed at any rate at the neck and ears he smiled faintly thinking these things yet he was tense feeling that he and the elderly estranged woman were conferring together like traitors like enemies within the camp of the other people he resembled a deer that throws one ear back upon the trail behind and one ear forward to know what is ahead people don't really matter he said rather unwilling to continue the mother looked up at him with sudden dark interrogation as if doubting his sincerity how do you mean matter? she asked sharply not many people are anything at all he answered forced to go deeper than he wanted to they jingle and giggle it would be much better if they were just wiped out essentially they don't exist they aren't there she watched him steadily while he spoke but we didn't imagine them she said sharply there's nothing to imagine that's why they don't exist well she said I would hardly go as far as that there they are whether they exist or no it doesn't rest with me to decide on their existence I only know that I can't be expected to take count of them all you can't expect me to know them just because they happen to be there as far as I go they might as well not be there exactly he replied mightn't they she asked again just as well he repeated and there was a little pause except that they are there and that's a nuisance she said there are my sons in law she went on in a sort of monologue now Laura's got married there's another and I really don't know John from James yet they come up to me and call me mother I know what they will say how are you mother I ought to say I am not your mother in any sense but what is the use there they are I have had children of my own I suppose I know them from another woman's children one would suppose so he said she looked at him somewhat surprised forgetting perhaps that she was talking to him and she lost her thread she looked round the room vaguely Birkin could not guess what she was looking for nor what she was thinking evidently she noticed her sons are my children all there she asked him abruptly he laughed startled afraid perhaps I'd scarcely know them except Gerald he replied Gerald she exclaimed he is the most wanting of them all you'd never think it to look at him now would you no said Birkin the mother looked across at her eldest son stared at him heavily for some time I she said in an incomprehensible monosyllable that sounded profoundly cynical Birkin felt afraid as if he dared not realize and Mrs. Cry moved away forgetting him but she returned on her traces I should like him to have a friend she said he has never had a friend Birkin looked down into her eyes which were blue and watching heavily he could not understand them am I my brother's keeper he said to himself almost flippantly then he remembered with a slight shock that was Cain's cry and Gerald was Cain if anybody not that he was Cain either although he had slain his brother there was such a thing as pure accident and the consequences did not attach to one even though one had killed one's brother in such wise Gerald as a boy had accidentally killed his brother what then? why seek to draw a brand and a curse across the life that had caused the accident a man can live by accident and die by accident or can he not? is every man's life subject to pure accident is it only the race, the genus the species that has a universal reference or is this not true no such thing as pure accident has everything that happens a universal significance has it? Birkin pondering as he stood there had forgotten Mrs. Cry as she had forgotten him he did not believe that there was any such thing as accident it all hung together in the deepest sense just as he had decided this one of the cry daughters came up saying won't you come and take your hat off mother dear we shall be sitting down to eat in a minute and it's a formal occasion darling isn't it she drew her arm through her mother's and they went away Birkin immediately went to talk to the nearest man the gong sounded for the luncheon the men looked up but no move was made to the dining room the women of the house seemed not to feel that the sound had meaning for them five minutes passed by the elderly man's servant Crowther appeared in the doorway exasperatedly he looked with appeal at Gerald the latter took up a large curved conch shell that lay on a shelf and without reference to anybody blew a shattering blast it was a strange rousing noise that made the heart beat the summons was almost magical everybody came running as if it a signal and then the crowd in one impulse moved to the dining room Gerald waited a moment for his sister to play hostess he knew his mother would pay no attention to her duties but his sister merely crowded to her seat therefore the young man slightly too dictatorial directed the guests to their places there was a moment's lull as everybody looked at the hors d'oeuvre that were being handed round and out of this lull a girl of 13 or 14 with her long hair down her back said in a calm, self-possessed voice Gerald you forget father when you make that unerty noise do I? he answered and then to the company father is lying down he is not quite well how is he really? called one of the married daughters peeping round the immense wedding-cake that towered up in the middle of the table shedding its artificial flowers he has no pain but he feels tired replied Winifred the girl with the hair down her back the wine was filled and everybody was talking boisterously at the far end of the table sat the mother with her fully looped hair she had Birkin for a neighbour sometimes she glanced fiercely down the rows of faces bending forwards and staring unceremoniously and she would say in a low voice to Birkin who is that young man? I don't know Birkin answered discreetly have I seen him before? she asked I don't think so I haven't, he replied and she was satisfied her eyes closed wearily a piece came over her face she looked like a queen in repose then she started a little social smile came on her face for a moment she looked the pleasant hostess for a moment she bent graciously as if everyone were welcome and delightful and then immediately the shadow came back a sullen eagle look was on her face she glanced from under her brows like a sinister creature at bay hating them all mother called Diana a handsome girl a little older than Winifred I may have wine, mayn't I? yes you may have wine replied the mother automatically for she was perfectly indifferent to the question and Diana beckoned to the footman to fill her glass Gerald shouldn't forbid me she said calmly to the company at large all right, die said her brother amably and she glanced challenge at him as she drank from her glass there was a strange freedom that almost amounted to anarchy in the house it was rather a resistance to authority than liberty Gerald had some command by mere force of personality not because of any granted position there was a quality in his voice amiable but dominant that cowed the others who were all younger than he Hermione was having a discussion with the bridegroom about nationality no she said I think that the appeal to patriotism is a mistake it is like one house of business rivaling another house of business well you can hardly say that can you exclaimed Gerald who had a real passion for discussion you couldn't call a race a business concern could you and nationality roughly corresponds to race I think it is meant to there was a moment's pause Gerald and Hermione were always strangely but politely and evenly inimical do you think race corresponds with nationality she asked musingly with expressionless indecision Birkin knew she was waiting for him to participate and dutifully he spoke up I think Gerald is right race is the essential element in nationality in Europe at least he said again Hermione paused as if to allow this statement to cool then she said with strange assumption of authority yes but even so is the patriotic appeal an appeal to the racial instinct is it not rather an appeal to the proprietary instinct the commercial instinct and isn't this what we mean by nationality probably said Birkin who felt that such a discussion was out of place and out of time but Gerald was now on the centre of argument a race may have its commercial aspect he said in fact it must it is like a family you must make provision and to make provision you have got to strive against other families other nations I don't see why you shouldn't again Hermione made a pause domineering and cold before she replied yes I think it is always wrong to provoke a spirit of rivalry it makes bad blood and bad blood accumulates but you can't do away with the spirit of emulation altogether said Gerald it is one of the necessary incentives to production and improvement yes came Hermione's sauntering response I think you can do away with it I must say said Birkin the spirit of emulation Hermione was biting a piece of bread pulling it from between her teeth with her fingers in a slow, slightly derisive movement she turned to Birkin you do hate it yes she said intimate and gratified detest it he repeated yes she murmured assured and satisfied but Gerald insisted you don't allow one man to take away his neighbour's living so why should you allow one nation to take away the living from another nation there was a long slow murmur from Hermione before she broke into speech saying with a laconic indifference it is not always a question of possessions is it it is not all a question of goods Gerald was netrolled by this implication of vulgar materialism yes, more or less he retorted if I go and take a man's hat from off his head that hat becomes a symbol of that man's liberty when he fights me for his hat he is fighting me for his liberty Hermione was non-plussed yes she said irritated but that way of arguing by imaginary instances is not supposed to be genuine is it a man does not come and take my hat from off my head does he only because the law prevents him said Gerald not only 99 men out of 100 don't want my hat that's a matter of opinion said Gerald all the hat laughed the bridegroom does want my hat such as it is said Birkin why, surely it is open to me to decide which is a greater loss to me, my hat or my liberty as a free and indifferent man if I am compelled to offer fight I lose the latter it is a question which is worth more to me my pleasant liberty of conduct or my hat yes said Hermione watching Birkin strangely yes but would you let somebody come and snatch your hat off your head the bride asked of Hermione the face of the tall straight woman turned slowly and as if drugged to this new speaker no she replied in a low inhuman tone that seemed to contain a chuckle though I shouldn't let anybody take my hat off my head how would you prevent it asked Gerald I don't know replied Hermione slowly probably I should kill him there was a strange chuckle in her tone a dangerous and convincing humour in her bearing of course said Gerald I can see Rupert's point it is a question to him whether his hat or his peace of mind is more important peace of body said Birkin well as you like there replied Gerald but how are you going to decide this for a nation heaven preserve me laughed Birkin yes but suppose you have to Gerald persisted then it is the same if the national crown piece is an old hat then the thieving gent may have it but can the national or racial hat be an old hat insisted Gerald pretty well bound to be I believe said Birkin I'm not so sure said Gerald I don't agree Rupert said Hermione all right said Birkin I'm all for the old national hat laughed Gerald and a fool you look in it cried Diana his pert sister who was just in her teens oh we're quite out of our debts with these old hats cried Laura cry dry up now Gerald we're going to drink toasts let us drink toasts toasts glasses glasses now then toasts speech speech Birkin thinking about race or national death watched his glass being filled with champagne the bubbles broke at the rim the man withdrew and feeling a sudden thirst at the site of the fresh wine Birkin drank up his glass a queer little tension in the room roused him he felt a sharp constraint did I do it by accident or on purpose he asked himself he decided that according to the vulgar phrase he had done it accidentally on purpose he looked round at the hired footman and the hired footman came with a silent step of cold servant-like disapprobation Birkin decided that he detested toasts and footmen and assemblies and mankind altogether in most of its aspects then he rose to make a speech but he was somehow disgusted at length it was over the meal several men strolled out into the garden there was a lawn and flower beds and at the boundary an iron fence shutting off the little field or park the view was pleasant a high road curving round the edge of a low lake under the trees in the spring air the water gleamed and the opposite woods were purplish with new life charming Jersey cattle came to the fence breathing hoarsely from their velvet muzzles at the human beings expecting perhaps a crust Birkin leaned on the fence a cow was breathing wet hotness on his hand pretty cattle very pretty said Marshall one of the brothers-in-law they give the best milk you can have yes said Birkin hey my little beauty hey my beauty said Marshall in a queer high falsetto voice that caused the other man to have convulsions of laughter in his stomach who won the race Lupton he called to the bridegroom to hide the fact that he was laughing the bridegroom took his cigar from his mouth the race he exclaimed then a rather thin smile came over his face he did not want to say anything about the flight to the church door we got there together at least she touched first but I had my hand on her shoulder what's this? asked Gerald Birkin told him about the race of the bride and the bridegroom hmm said Gerald in disapproval what made you late then? Lupton would talk about the immortality of the soul said Birkin and then he hadn't got a buttonhook oh god cried Marshall the immortality of the soul on your wedding day hadn't you got anything better to occupy your mind? what's wrong with it? asked the bridegroom a clean shaven navel man flushing sensitively sounds as if you're going to be executed instead of married the immortality of the soul repeated the brother-in-law with most killing emphasis but he fell quite flat and what did you decide? asked Gerald at once pricking up his ears at the thought of a metaphysical discussion you don't want a soul today my boy said Marshall it'd be on your road cried Marshall go and talk to somebody else cried Gerald with sudden impatience by God I'm willing said Marshall in a temper too much bloody soul and talk all together he withdrew in a dungeon Gerald staring after him with angry eyes that grew gradually calm and amiable as the stoutly built form of the other man passed into the distance there's one thing Lupton said Gerald turning suddenly to the bridegroom Laura won't have brought such a fool into the family as Lottie did comfort yourself with that laughed Birkin I'd take no notice of them laughed the bridegroom what about this race then who began it Gerald asked we were late Laura was at the top of the churchyard steps when our cab came up she saw Lupton bolting towards her and she fled but why do you look so cross does it hurt your sense of the family dignity it does rather said Gerald if you're doing a thing do it properly and if you're not going to do it properly leave it alone very nice aphorism said Birkin don't you agree asked Gerald quite said Birkin only it bores me rather you come aphoristic damn you Rupert you want all the aphorisms your own way said Gerald no I want them out of the way and you're always shoving them in it Gerald smiled grimly at this humorism then he made a little gesture of dismissal with his eyebrows you don't believe in having any standard of behaviour at all do you he challenged Birkin sensoriously standard no I hate standards but they're necessary for the common ruck anybody who is anything can just be himself and do as he likes but what do you mean by being himself said Gerald is that an aphorism or a cliché I mean just doing what you want to do I think it was perfect good form in Laura to boat from Lupton to the church door it was almost a masterpiece in good form it's the hardest thing in the world to act spontaneously on one's impulses and it's the only really gentlemanly thing to do provided you're fit to do it you don't expect me to take you seriously do you asked Gerald yes Gerald you're one of the very few people I do expect that of and I'm afraid I can't come up to your expectations here at any rate you think people should just do as they like I think they always do but I should like them to like the purely individual thing in themselves which makes them act in singleness and they only like to do the collective thing and I said Gerald grimly shouldn't like to be in a world of people who acted individually and spontaneously as you call it we should have everybody cutting everybody else's throat in five minutes that means you would like to be cutting everybody's throat said Birkin how does that follow? asked Gerald crossly no man said Birkin cuts another man's throat unless he wants to cut it and unless the other man wants it cutting this is a complete truth it takes two people to make a murder a murderer and a murderer and a murderer is a man who is murderable and a man who is murderable is a man who in a profound if hidden last desires to be murdered sometimes you talk pure nonsense said Gerald to Birkin as a matter of fact none of us wants our throat cut and most other people would like to cut it for us some time or other it's a nasty view of things Gerald said Birkin and no wonder you're afraid of yourself and your own unhappiness how am I afraid of myself said Gerald and I don't think I am unhappy you seem to have a lurking desire to have your gizzard slit and imagine every man has his knife up his sleeve for you Birkin said how do you make that out said Gerald from you said Birkin there was a pause of strange enmity between the two men that was very near to love it was always the same between them always their talk brought them into a minus of contact a strange perilous intimacy which was either hate or love or both they parted with apparent unconcern as if they're going apart were a trivial occurrence and they really kept it to the level of trivial occurrence yet the heart of each burned from the other they burned with each other inwardly this they would never admit they intended to keep their relationship a casual free and easy friendship they were not going to be so unmanly and unnatural as to allow any heart burning between them they had not the faintest belief in deep relationship between men and men and their disbelief prevented any development of their powerful but suppressed friendliness end of chapter 2 recording by Ruth Golding chapter 3 of women in love this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Ruth Golding women in love by D.H. Lawrence chapter 3 classroom a school day was drawing to a close in the classroom the last lesson was in progress peaceful and still it was elementary botany the desks were littered with catkins, hazel and willow which the children had been sketching but the sky had come over dark as the end of the afternoon approached there was scarcely light to draw any more Ursula stood in front of the class leading the children by questions to understand the structure and the meaning of the catkins a heavy copper coloured beam of light came in at the west window gilding the outlines of the children's heads with red gold and falling on the wall opposite in a rich, ruddy illumination Ursula however was scarcely conscious of it she was busy the end of the day was here the work went on as a peaceful tide that is at flood to retire this day had gone by like so many more in an activity that was like a trance at the end there was a little haste to finish what was in hand she was pressing the children with questions so that they should know all they were to know by the time the gong went she stood in shadow in front of the class with catkins in her hand and she leaned towards the children absorbed in the passion of instruction she heard but did not notice the click of the door suddenly she started she saw in the shaft of ruddy copper coloured light near her the face of a man it was gleaming like fire watching her waiting for her to be aware it startled her terribly she thought she was going to faint all her suppressed subconscious fears sprang into being with anguish did I startle you? said Birkin shaking hands with her I thought you had heard me come in no she faltered scarcely able to speak he laughed saying he was sorry she wondered why it amused him it is so dark he said shall we have the light? and moving aside he switched on the strong electric lights the classroom was distinct and hard a strange place after the soft dim magic that filled it before he came Birkin turned curiously to look at Ursula her eyes were round and wandering bewildered her mouth quivered slightly she looked like one who is suddenly wakened there was a living tender beauty like a tender light of dawn shining from her face he looked at her with a new pleasure feeling gay in his heart irresponsible you were doing catkins he asked picking up a piece of hazel from a scholar's desk in front of him although as far out as this I hadn't noticed them this year he looked absorbedly at the tassel of hazel in his hand the red ones too he said looking at the flickers of crimson came from the female bud then he went in among the desks to see the scholar's books Ursula watched his intent progress there was a stillness in his motions that hushed the activities of her heart she seemed to be standing aside in a rested silence watching him move in another concentrated world his presence was so quiet almost like a vacancy in the corporate air suddenly he lifted his face to her and her heart quickened at the flicker of his voice give them some crayons, won't you? he said so that they can make the guinessious flowers red and the androgynous yellow I'd chalk them in plain chalking nothing else merely the red and the yellow outlines scarcely matters in this case there is just the one fact to emphasise I haven't any crayons said Ursula there will be some somewhere red and yellow, that's all you want Ursula sent out a boy on a quest it will make the books untidy she said to Birkin flushing deeply not very, he said you must mark in these things obviously it's the fact you want to emphasise not the subjective impression to record what's the fact red little spiky stigmas of the female flower dangling yellow male capkin yellow pollen flying from one to the other make a pictorial record of the fact as a child does when drawing a face two eyes, one nose, mouth with teeth so and he drew a figure on the blackboard at that moment another vision was seen through the glass panels of the door it was Hermione Roddis Birkin went and opened to her I saw your car she said to him do you mind my coming to find you I wanted to see you when you're on duty she looked at him for a long time intimate and playful then she gave a short little laugh and then only she turned to Ursula who with all the class had been watching the little scene between the lovers how do you do Miss Brangwen sang Hermione in her low odd singing fashion that sounded almost as if she were poking fun do you mind my coming in her grey almost sardonic eyes rested all the while on Ursula as if summing her up oh no said Ursula are you sure repeated Hermione with complete sang frois in an odd half bullying effrontery oh no I like it awfully laughed Ursula a little bit excited and bewildered because Hermione seemed to be compelling her coming very close to her as if intimate with her and yet how could she be intimate this was the answer Hermione wanted she turned satisfied to Birkin what are you doing she sang in her casual inquisitive fashion capkins he replied really she said and what do you learn about them she spoke all the while in a mocking half teasing fashion as if making game of the whole business she picked up a twig of the capkin peaked by Birkin's attention to it she was a strange figure in the classroom wearing a large old cloak of greenish cloth on which was a raised pattern of dull gold the high collar and the inside of the cloak was lined with dark fur beneath she had a dress of fine lavender coloured cloth trimmed with fur and her hat was close fitting made of fur and of the dull green and gold figured stuff she was tall and strange she looked as if she had come out of some new bizarre picture do you know the little red ovary flowers that produce the nuts have you ever noticed them he asked her and he came close and pointed them out to her on the sprigs she held no she replied what are they those are the little seed producing flowers and the long capkins they only produce pollen do they do they repeated Hermione looking closely from those little red bits the nuts come if they receive pollen from the long danglers little red flames little red flames murmured Hermione to herself and she remained for some moments looking only at the small buds out of which the red flickers the stigma issued aren't they beautiful I think they're so beautiful she said moving close to Birkin and pointing to the red filaments with her long white finger had you never noticed them before he asked no never before she replied and now you will always see them he said now I shall always see them repeated thank you so much for showing me I think they're so beautiful little red flames her absorption was strange almost rhapsodic both Birkin and Ursula were suspended the little red pistol at flowers had some strange almost mystic passionate attraction for her the lesson was finished the books were put away they were dismissed and still Hermione sat at the table with her chin in her hand her elbow on the table her long white face pushed up not attending to anything Birkin had gone to the window and was looking from the brightly lighted room onto the grey colourless outside where rain was noiselessly falling Ursula put away her things in the cupboard at length Hermione rose and came near to her your sister has come home she said yes said Ursula and does she like being back in buildover no said Ursula no I wonder she can bear it it takes all my strength to bear the ugliness of this district when I stay here won't you come and see me will you come with your sister to stay at Reddleby for a few days do thank you very much said Ursula then I will write to you said Hermione you think your sister will come I should be so glad I think she's wonderful I think some of her work is really wonderful I have two water wag tails carved in wood and painted Ursula I think it is perfectly wonderful like a flash of instinct her little carvings are strange said Ursula perfectly beautiful full of primitive passion isn't it queer that she always likes little things she must always work small things that one can put between one's hands birds and tiny animals she likes to look through the wrong end of the opera glasses and see the world that way why is it do you think Hermione looked down at Ursula with that long detached, scrutinising gaze that excited the younger woman yes said Hermione at length it is curious the little things seem to be more subtle to her but they aren't are they Hermione isn't any more subtle than a lion is it again Hermione looked down at Ursula with that long scrutiny as if she were following some train of thought of her own and barely attending to the other speech I don't know she replied Rupert, Rupert she sang mildly calling him to her he approached in silence are little things more subtle than big things she asked with the odd grunt of laughter in her voice as if she were making game of him in the question don't know he said I hate subtleties said Ursula Hermione looked at her slowly do you I always think they are a sign of weakness said Ursula up in arms as if her prestige were threatened Hermione took no notice suddenly her face puckered her brow was knit with thought she seemed twisted in troublesome effort for utterance do you really think Rupert she asked as if Ursula were not present do you really think it is worthwhile do you really think the children are better for being roused to consciousness a dark flash went over his face a silent fury he was hollow cheeked and pale almost unearthly and the woman with her serious conscience harrowing questioned tortured him on the quick they are not roused to consciousness he said consciousness comes to them willy-nilly but do you think they are better for having it quick and stimulated isn't it better that they should remain unconscious of the hazel isn't it better that they should see as a whole without all this pulling to pieces all this knowledge would you rather for yourself know or not know that the little red flowers are there putting out for the pollen he asked harshly his voice was brutal scornful cruel Hermione remained with her face lifted up abstracted he hung silent in irritation I don't know she replied balancing mildly I don't know but knowing is everything to you it is all your life he broke out she slowly looked at him is it she said to know that is your all that is your life you have only this this knowledge there is only one tree there is only one fruit in your mouth again she was sometimes silent is there she said at last with the same untouched calm and then in a tone of whimsical inquisitiveness what fruit Rupert the eternal apple he replied in exasperation waiting his own metaphors yes she said there was a look of exhaustion about her for some moments there was silence then pulling herself together with a convulsed movement Hermione resumed in a sing-song casual voice but leaving me apart Rupert do you think the children are better richer happier for all this knowledge do you really think they are or is it better to leave them untouched spontaneous hadn't they better be animals simple animals crude violent anything rather than this self-consciousness this incapacity to be spontaneous they thought she had finished but with a queer rumbling in her throat she resumed hadn't they better be anything then grow up crippled crippled in their souls crippled in their feelings so thrown back so turned back on themselves incapable Hermione clenched her fist like one in a trance of any spontaneous action always deliberate always burdened with choice never carried away again they thought she had finished but just as he was going to reply she resumed her queer rhapsody never carried away out of themselves always conscious always self-conscious always aware of themselves isn't anything better than this better be animals mere animals with no mind at all than this this nothingness but do you think that it is knowledge that makes us unliving and self-conscious she asked irritably she opened her eyes and looked at him slowly yes she said she paused watching him all the while her eyes vague then she wiped her fingers across her brow with a vague weariness it irritated him bitterly it is the mind she said and that is death she raised her eyes slowly to him isn't the mind she said with a convulsed movement of her body isn't it our death doesn't it destroy all our spontaneity all our instincts are not the young people growing up to date really dead before they have a chance to live not because they have too much mind but too little he said brutally are you sure she cried it seems to me the reverse they are over-conscious burdened to death with consciousness imprisoned with an unlimited false set of concepts he cried but she took no notice of this only went on with her own rhapsodic interrogation when we have knowledge don't we lose everything knowledge? she asked pathetically if I know about the flower don't I lose the flower and have only the knowledge aren't we exchanging the substance for the shadow aren't we forfeiting life for this dead quality of knowledge and what does it mean to me after all what does all this knowing mean to me it means nothing you are merely making words he said knowledge means everything to you even your animalism you want it in your head you don't want to be an animal you want to observe your own animal functions to get a mental thrill out of them it is all purely secondary and more decadent than the most hidebound intellectualism what is it but the worst and last form of intellectualism this love of yours for passion and the animal instincts passion and the instincts you want them hard enough but through your head in your consciousness it all takes place in your head under that skull of yours only you won't be conscious of what actually is you want the lie that will match the rest of your furniture Hermione set hard and poisonous against this attack Ursula stood covered with wonder and shame it frightened her to see how they hated each other it's all that lady of Sherlock business he said in his strong abstract voice he seemed to be charging her before seeing air you've got that mirror your own fixed will your immortal understanding your own tight conscious world and there is nothing beyond it there in the mirror you must have everything but now you have come to all your conclusions you want to go back and be like a savage without knowledge you want a life of pure sensation and passion she said the last word satirically against her she sat convulsed with fury and violation speechless like a stricken pisoness of the greek oracle but your passion is a lie he went on violently it isn't passion at all it is your will it's your bullying will you want to clutch things and have them in your power have things in your power and why? because you haven't got any real body any dark sensual body of life you have no sensuality you have only your will and your conceit of consciousness and your lust for power to know he looked at her in mingled hate and content also in pain because she suffered and in shame because he knew he tortured her he had an impulse to kneel and plead for forgiveness but a bitterer red anger burned up to fury in him he became unconscious of her he was only a passionate voice speaking spontaneous he cried you and spontaneity you the most deliberate thing that ever walked or crawled you'd be verily deliberately spontaneous that's you because you want to have everything in your own volition your deliberate voluntary consciousness you want it all in that loathsome little skull of yours that ought to be cracked like a nut for you'll be the same till it is cracked like an insect in its skin if one cracked your skull perhaps one might get a spontaneous passionate woman out of you with real sensuality as it is what you want is pornography looking at yourself in mirrors watching your naked animal actions in mirrors so that you can have it all in your consciousness make it all mental there was a sense of violation in the air as if too much was said the unforgivable yet Ursula was concerned now only with solving her own problems in the light of his words she was pale and abstracted but do you really want sensuality she asked puzzled Birkin looked at her and became intent in his explanation yes he said that and nothing else at this point it is a fulfilment it is a fulfilment the great dark knowledge you can't have in your head the dark involuntary being it is death to oneself but it is the coming into being of another but how? how can you have knowledge not in your head she asked quite unable to interpret his phrases in the blood he answered when the mind and the known world and in darkness everything must go there must be the deluge then you find yourself a palpable body of darkness a demon but why should I be a demon she asked woman wailing for her demon lover he quoted why I don't know Hermione roused herself as from a death annihilation he is such a dreadful satanist isn't he she drawled to Ursula in a queer resonant voice that ended on a shrill little laugh of pure ridicule the two women were jeering at him jeering him into nothingness the laugh of the shrill triumphant female sounded from Hermione jeering him as if he were a neuter no he said you were the real devil who won't let life exist she looked at him with a long slow look malevolent supercilious you know all about it don't you she said with a slow cold cunning mockery enough he replied his face fixing fine and clear like steel a horrible despair and at the same time a sense of release liberation came over Hermione she turned with a pleasant intimacy to Ursula you are sure you will come to Bredleby she said urging yes I should like to very much replied Ursula Hermione looked down at her gratified reflecting and strangely absent as if possessed as if not quite there I'm so glad she said pulling herself together some time in about a fortnight yes I'll write to you here at the school shall I yes and you'll be sure to come yes I shall be so glad goodbye Hermione held out her hand and looked into the eyes of the other woman she knew Ursula as an immediate rival and the knowledge strangely exhilarated her also she was taking leave it always gave her a sense of strength advantage to be departing and leaving the other behind moreover she was taking the man with her if only in hate Birkin stood aside fixed and un-wheel but now when it was his turn to bid goodbye he began to speak again there's the whole difference in the world he said between the actual sensual being and the vicious mental deliberate profligacy our lot goes in for in our night time there's always the electricity switched on we watch ourselves we get it all in the head really you've got to lapse out before you can know what sensual reality is lapse into unknowingness and give up your volition you've got to do it you've got to learn not to be before you can come into being but we have got such a conceit of ourselves that's where it is we are so conceited and so un-proud we've got no pride we're all conceit so conceited in our own papier-mache realized selves we'd rather die than give up our little self-righteous, self-opinionated self-will there was silence in the room both women were hostile and resentful he sounded as if he were addressing a meeting Hermione merely paid no attention stood with her shoulders tight in a shrug of dislike Ursula was watching him as if furtively not really aware of what she was seeing there was a great physical attractiveness in him a curious hidden richness that came through his thinness and his pallor like another voice conveying another knowledge of him it was in the curves of his brows and his chin rich, fine exquisite curves the powerful beauty of life itself she could not say what it was but there was a sense of richness and of liberty but we're sensual enough without making ourselves so, aren't we? she asked turning to him with a certain golden laughter flickering under her greenish eyes like a challenge and immediately the queer, careless terribly attractive smile came over his eyes and brows though his mouth did not relax no he said, we aren't we're too full of ourselves surely it isn't a matter of conceit she cried that and nothing else she was frankly puzzled don't you think that people are most conceited of all about their sensual powers? she asked that's why they aren't sensual only sensuous which is another matter they're always aware of themselves and they're so conceited that rather than release themselves and live in another world from another centre they'd, you want your tea, don't you? said Hermione turning to Ursula with a gracious kindliness you've worked all day Birkin stopped short a spasm of anger and chagrin went over Ursula his face set and he bad goodbye as if he had ceased to notice her they were gone Ursula stood looking at the door for some moments then she put out the lights and having done so she sat down again in her chair absorbed and lost and then she began to cry bitterly bitterly weeping but whether for misery or joy she never knew end of chapter 3 recording by Ruth Golding


Welcome folk welcome folks. We had the Dow industrials finished down 518 Nasdaq down 538 S&P's down 104. That's a down draft inside the Nasdaq folks of 3.7 percent 2.2 percent the S&P and 1.4 percent in the Nasdaq I mean in the Dow industrials We're gonna have Amazon coming out with numbers if they do come out with numbers before I get off the air this update I'll make sure that you have them gold gold contract down $3.60 straight at 1806 an ounce We have silver off 31 cents $22.39 an ounce light sweet crude up a buck 86 $90 12 cents a barrel notes and bonds the 10 year down 15 ticks 127 20 30 year for full point plus four ticks at 154 28 and King dog King dog down 527 ticks more falls through to the downside $95 409 the euro is at 114 that had a big day topside as they actually went up a half a percent on the Rates and they're gonna go on more Yen is at 114.94 and the British pounds at 135 to 1 US dollar we get open We take a look at the spy first what we have out here and look at the spy You get the price destruction going but guess what you get light volume in that this is this is this is What vol to markets do folks Bottom line. We only had 104 million shares traded inside there. You're going into 152 You know, this is not the end of the world telling him and we're gonna be up. We're gonna be higher again It's that's not enough volume to press lows We take a look at the cues the cues out here today. The cues have 87 million That's a slight expansion, but guess what you're going into 146 million you're going into 108 million, you know the same type of setup So we're coming into a Friday you come into a jobs number. No doubt about that What's gonna be intriguing? No doubt is this is that we get Amazon coming out and Amazon's out Amazon's up $300 So Amazon saved the day. There you go. I Don't know what they're saying yet, but the bottom line Amazon closed at 2773. It's trade. That's up $400. It's up It's trading 31 35 So bottom line is that there we go You gotta love it man, what a trip. So let's see what Amazon had to say Okay, so Net sales first quarter net sales that markets being good to the first quarter the S&M was 120 Billion they're gonna do 112 to 118 but the market loves it. That's the real bottom line Oh, they're bringing up the price of prime membership. Oh, of course. They are that that is nothing like that Man that 31 63 now it's up $450. Have a great one folks. Have a safe one


Now these are all claims about Britain's Prime Minister you'll have heard before indeed you'll probably have heard them on this very show. However the Sunday Times have revealed another angle on the Tory leader I wasn't aware of. Now this is that Boris Johnson is apparently broke the background to the scandals over Tory donors paying for an upgrade to the Downing Street flat is that Boris Johnson despite earning 157,000 pounds a year cannot afford his lifestyle he's getting into debt. On the face of it the idea that a Prime Minister cannot afford to do the job on a salary of 157,000 pounds is ridiculous but it is clear that when the bill for the refurbishment overseen by the boho sheep designer Lulu little arrived last year Johnson was unable or unwilling to pay. The initial invoice was settled by the Cabinet Office the Conservative Party then refunded the excess amount of 58,000 pounds at the same time the Tory donor Lord Brownlow of Sherlock Rowe gave the same amount to cover the costs. Senior Tory sources say that Johnson has taken out a commercial loan to repay the money he owes to the party number 10 refuses to confirm or deny this claim the Ministerial Code of Conduct stipulates that even bank loans should be registered to avoid conflicts of interest the register of ministerial interest has not been updated since July last year. Now this really adds some flavour to what we knew about the story so far so other journalists have reported that essentially to pay for this extravagant refurbishment of the flat Boris Johnson had I mean essentially asked for money from from the Conservative Party and Tory donors that was how he was planning to pay for the refurbishment then when the newspapers got involved and started reporting on this and saying this looks a little bit dodgy Boris Johnson was like oh no I'm going to cover the costs I'm going to cover the costs and now all you hear from Tory press officers is they basically ignore any question and say Boris Johnson has actually paid for it Boris Johnson has actually paid for it they ignore the fact that someone initially paid for it and probably Boris Johnson never wanted to pay for it he just did because of this controversy what this adds to it is that in paying for it after the row started the Prime Minister is now in in debt he had to take out a commercial loan to pay this back it's surprising at least especially when he's earning quite so much money now the report also suggested it wasn't just the flat refurbishment that Johnson was relying on donors to pay for so they write senior conservatives say donors have been approached about funding other aspects of the couple's lifestyle a prominent MP received a complaint from a Tory donor that they were asked to foot the bill for a nanny for Wilfred Johnson's son with Simons who turned one last week the donor is alleged to have said I don't mind paying for leaflets but I resent being asked to pay to literally wipe the Prime Minister's baby's bottom so every aspect of their life they're asking for wealthy Tory donors to cover which is quite problematic when you think that yes it is also Tory donors who seem to get privileged access to public sector contracts so whilst Boris Johnson is desperately asking people to pay for various parts of his lifestyle he is also making big decisions about public money you can see there's some potential conflicts of interests there so how did the Prime Minister find himself in such a financial tight spot now the article goes into some detail here it goes into the ingoings of the Prime Minister disposable income they know he has and then some of the outgoings that every Prime Minister faces the income tax and national insurance bill on Johnson's £157,000 salary amounts to about £63,000 which would leave him with about £95,000 a year but his salary is topped up with royalties for his books which have amounted to about £25,000 since he became Prime Minister in addition he has received £28,000 in personal gifts and donations in that time according to his register of interest that includes a £15,000 trip to Mustique in December 2019 courtesy of the car phone warehouse co-founder David Ross which is the subject of an inquiry by Catherine Stone the parliamentary commissioner for standards so some basic math say he's got 95 grand disposable income a year since he became Prime Minister almost two years 25,000 pounds in royalties the disposable income you know he's got at least 110 grand a year to play with if you and hire if you include some of those personal gifts so you know it's quite a lot by any measure in terms of the costs of being a Prime Minister the outgoings that one has to subject oneself to if one leads the country the Sunday Times reports there are other costs associated with the role of Prime Minister while he and his family can live rent free in the number 11 Downing Street flat he must pay a tax liability for heating lighting and maintenance which comes to about £7,000 a year he also pays a council tax bill of £1,655 a year Johnson covers the costs of any food and drink for personal consumption even if it comes from the Downing Street kitchens they go on as a protected person he receives tax fair funded travel and can stay at checkers the Prime Minister's official country residence in Buckinghamshire however whenever Johnson or Simon's entertain guests at the house who are not on official visits Johnson must pay for their food and drinks which a guest once estimated to cost £75 per head so none of this gets us very close to understanding why the Prime Minister is broke he earns 95 grand a year that's after tax that's his disposable income and he's also got income on the side from royalties etc the costs they've talked about that he has to pay for our food electricity and council tax and then some money when his friends come to visit him at his country houses that gets to stay in for free not many of us have to pay when our friends visit our country houses because we don't have country houses but we all do have to pay for food and electricity and council tax so this doesn't get us very far what and you probably will have been able to infer by now is that the reason the Prime Minister is broke is because of discretionary for spending because of money he spends that most people don't spend and most people don't even consider spending so on top of the 200 grand refurb for the flat something not many people would spend according to the Times Johnson also hired a personal chef while he recovered from Covid and then at £165 per hour personal trainer his divorce with his second wife is also apparently fairly expensive or was fairly expensive according to the Times this all adds up Johnson has told friends that he needs to earn about £300,000 a year twice his salary to keep his head above water a former number 10 insider said it was received wisdom that he is permanently broke you know I'd play the world's tiniest violin but I'm afraid I kind of ordered so he says that he needs £300,000 a year just to keep his head above water the median income in this country is around £29,000 the median salary in this country is around 30 31,000 pounds so a tenth of what he says he needs in order to be able to survive to have a decent standard of living so if he's struggling on his 160,000 pounds a year is it his salary as a as the Prime Minister then God knows what's expected for the rest of us and again when we think about things like living within your means I don't think that any family should have to struggle to afford the basics but it doesn't seem to me that Boris Johnson all his family are struggling to afford the basics meanwhile the Conservative Party were instrumental in trying to push through a two-child limit for recipients of universal credit which would mean that any further children would have gone unsupported a really cruel and punitive policy which essentially punishes children for being born into impoverished circumstances Boris Johnson doesn't think oh well you know maybe should I think about how much money I have available to me before I have yet another kid with my fiance no he just does it and goes well someone else is going to put the bill whether it's you know the taxpayer in terms of the lovely grant that they give us to do up our flat for 30,000 pounds every year or it will be a Conservative Party donor essentially I don't have to deal with this does he have to make the kinds of decisions the rest of us have to make in terms of oh you know stuck on holiday this year or do I cover you know these other costs you know maybe your your sinks flooded you had to get that fixed or something no he doesn't have to make that decision because he could take a 15,000 pound trip to a private Caribbean island because these corporate interests know that they can essentially lubricate their relationship with the Prime Minister with money and gifts and things which are worth a lot because this is a man fundamentally who doesn't have the integrity or the good sense to say no that's because quite frankly he doesn't take the business of government very seriously at all because if you did if you did take the business of government seriously you would go you know what there's a quid pro quo here and i'm not comfortable with that i'm not comfortable with you lord you know brown low or you mr carphone warehouse man having something over my head when it comes to matters of policy or when you want something from me someone who's serious about government wouldn't be up to this kind of stuff but we know that Boris Johnson isn't he's in it for himself he's in it for the glories entirely venal and self-serving so when i read stories like this the thing that pisses me off isn't so much Boris Johnson's behavior because what are you going to do you're going to blame a snake for being a snake it's part of his nature it's the fact that you have these so-called journalists including wife of Michael gove Sarah vines saying things like oh well what would you want for the prime minister to live in a skip and what that shows me is that you've got significant portions of our fourth estate who should be holding power to account in fact treating themselves as essentially you know Boris Johnson's human kevlar trying to manage public opinion by saying these things which are grotesquely insulting not just to our intelligence because we can see through it but grotesquely insulting to our own circumstances and the material conditions in which we have to live so i'm glad that the sunday times is doing this kind of work but you know the lord giveth with one hand and take the way with the other so i get some good journalism on the one hand and then i get some fucking awful comment pieces on the other