Shecouldonlywait，waitandmoaninspiritasshefelthimwithdrawing，withdrawingandcontracting，comingtotheterriblemomentwhenhewouldslipoutofherandbegone。Whilstallherwombwasopenandsoft，andsoftlyclamouring，likeasea-anemoneunderthetide，clamouringforhimtocomeinagainandmakeafulfilmentforher。Sheclungtohimunconsciousiiipassion，andheneverquiteslippedfromher，andshefeltthesoftbudofhimwithinherstirring，andstrangerhythmsflushingupintoherwithastrangerhythmicgrowingmotion，swellingandswellingtillitfilledallhercleavingconsciousness，andthenbeganagaintheunspeakablemotionthatwasnotreallymotion，butpuredeepeningwhirlpoolsofsensationswirlingdeeperanddeeperthroughallhertissueandconsciousness，tillshewasoneperfectconcentricfluidoffeeling，andshelaytherecryinginunconsciousinarticulatecries。Thevoiceoutoftheuttermostnight，thelife!Themanhearditbeneathhimwithakindofawe，ashislifesprangoutintoher。Andasitsubsided，hesubsidedtooandlayutterlystill，unknowing，whilehergriponhimslowlyrelaxed，andshelayinert。
　　Andtheylayandknewnothing，notevenofeachother，bothlost。Tillatlasthebegantorouseandbecomeawareofhisdefencelessnakedness，andshewasawarethathisbodywaslooseningitsclasponher。Hewascomingapart；butinherbreastshefeltshecouldnotbearhimtoleaveheruncovered。Hemustcoverhernowforever。
　　Buthedrewawayatlast，andkissedherandcoveredherover，andbegantocoverhimselfShelaylookinguptotheboughsofthetree，unableasyettomove。Hestoodandfasteneduphisbreeches，lookinground。Allwasdenseandsilent，savefortheaweddogthatlaywithitspawsagainstitsnose。HesatdownagainonthebrushwoodandtookConnie’shandinsilence。
　　Sheturnedandlookedathim。`Wecameofftogetherthattime，’hesaid。
　　Shedidnotanswer。
　　`It’sgoodwhenit’slikethat。Mostfolkslivetheirlivesthroughandtheyneverknowit，’hesaid，speakingratherdreamily。
　　Shelookedintohisbroodingface。
　　`Dothey？’shesaid。`Areyouglad？’
　　Helookedbackintohereyes。`Glad，’hesaid，`Ay，butnevermind。’
　　Hedidnotwanthertotalk。Andhebentoverherandkissedher，andshefelt，sohemustkissherforever。
　　Atlastshesatup。
　　`Don’tpeopleoftencomeofftogether？’sheaskedwithnaivecuriosity。
　　`Agoodmanyofthemnever。Youcanseebytherawlookofthem。’Hespokeunwittingly，regrettinghehadbegun。
　　`Haveyoucomeofflikethatwithotherwomen？’
　　Helookedatheramused。
　　`Idon’tknow，’hesaid，`Idon’tknow。’
　　Andsheknewhewouldnevertellheranythinghedidn’twanttotellher。Shewatchedhisface，andthepassionforhimmovedinherbowels。
　　Sheresisteditasfarasshecould，foritwasthelossofherselftoherself。
　　Heputonhiswaistcoatandhiscoat，andpushedawaythroughtothepathagain。
　　Thelastlevelraysofthesuntouchedthewood。`Iwon’tcomewithyou，’hesaid；`betternot。’
　　Shelookedathimwistfullybeforesheturned。Hisdogwaswaitingsoanxiouslyforhimtogo，andheseemedtohavenothingwhatevertosay。
　　Nothingleft。
　　Conniewentslowlyhome，realizingthedepthoftheotherthinginher。
　　Anotherselfwasaliveinher，burningmoltenandsoftinherwombandbowels，andwiththisselfsheadoredhim。Sheadoredhimtillherkneeswereweakasshewalked。Inherwombandbowelsshewasflowingandalivenowandvulnerable，andhelplessinadorationofhimasthemostnaivewoman。Itfeelslikeachild，shesaidtoherselfitfeelslikeachildinme。Andsoitdid，asifherwomb，thathadalwaysbeenshut，hadopenedandfilledwithnewlife，almostaburden，yetlovely。
　　`IfIhadachild!’shethoughttoherself；`ifIhadhiminsidemeasachild!’——andherlimbsturnedmoltenatthethought，andsherealizedtheimmensedifferencebetweenhavingachildtooneselfandhavingachildtoamanwhomone’sbowelsyearnedtowards。Theformerseemedinasenseordinary：buttohaveachildtoamanwhomoneadoredinone’sbowelsandone’swomb，itmadeherfeelshewasverydifferentfromheroldselfandasifshewassinkingdeep，deeptothecentreofallwomanhoodandthesleepofcreation。
　　Itwasnotthepassionthatwasnewtoher，itwastheyearningadoration。
　　Sheknewshehadalwaysfearedit，foritleftherhelpless；shefeareditstill，lestifsheadoredhimtoomuch，thenshewouldloseherselfbecomeeffaced，andshedidnotwanttobeeffaced，aslave，likeasavagewoman。Shemustnotbecomeaslave。Shefearedheradoration，yetshewouldnotatoncefightagainstit。Sheknewshecouldfightit。Shehadadevilofself-willinherbreastthatcouldhavefoughtthefullsoftheavingadorationofherwombandcrushedit。Shecouldevennowdoit，orshethoughtso，andshecouldthentakeupherpassionwithherownwill。
　　Ahyes，tobepassionatelikeaBacchante，likeaBacchanalfleeingthroughthewoods，tocallonIacchos，thebrightphallosthathadnoindependentpersonalitybehindit，butwaspuregod-servanttothewoman!Theman，theindividual，lethimnotdareintrude。Hewasbutatemple-servant，thebearerandkeeperofthebrightphallos，herown。
　　So，inthefluxofnewawakening，theoldhardpassionflamedinherforatime，andthemandwindledtoacontemptibleobject，themerephallos-bearer，tobetorntopieceswhenhisservicewasperformed。ShefelttheforceoftheBacchaeinherlimbsandherbody，thewomangleamingandrapid，beatingdownthemale；butwhileshefeltthis，herheartwasheavy。Shedidnotwantit，itwasknownandbarren，birthless；theadorationwashertreasure。
　　Itwassofathomless，sosoft，sodeepandsounknown。No，no，shewouldgiveupherhardbrightfemalepower；shewaswearyofit，stiffenedwithit；shewouldsinkinthenewbathoflife，inthedepthsofherwombandherbowelsthatsangthevoicelesssongofadoration。Itwasearlyyettobegintofeartheman。
　　`IwalkedoverbyMarehay，andIhadteawithMrsFlint，’shesaidtoClifford。`Iwantedtoseethebaby。It’ssoadorable，withhairlikeredcobwebs。Suchadear!MrFlinthadgonetomarket，sosheandIandthebabyhadteatogether。DidyouwonderwhereIwas？’
　　`Well，Iwondered，butIguessedyouhaddroppedinsomewheretotea，’
　　saidCliffordjealously。Withasortofsecondsighthesensedsomethingnewinher，somethingtohimquiteincomprehensible，hutheascribedittothebaby。HethoughtthatallthatailedConniewasthatshedidnothaveababy，automaticallybringoneforth，sotospeak。
　　`Isawyougoacrosstheparktotheirongate，myLady，’saidMrsBolton；
　　`soIthoughtperhapsyou’dcalledattheRectory。’
　　`Inearlydid，thenIturnedtowardsMarehayinstead。’
　　Theeyesofthetwowomenmet：MrsBolton’sgreyandbrightandsearching；
　　Connie’sblueandveiledandstrangelybeautiful。MrsBoltonwasalmostsureshehadalover，yethowcoulditbe，andwhocoulditbe？Wherewasthereaman？
　　`Oh，it’ssogoodforyou，ifyougooutandseeabitofcompanysometimes，’
　　saidMrsBolton。`IwassayingtoSirClifford，itwoulddoherladyshipaworldofgoodifshe’dgooutamongpeoplemore。’
　　`Yes，I’mgladIwent，andsuchaquaintdearcheekybaby，Clifford，’
　　saidConnie。`It’sgothairjustlikespider-webs，andbrightorange，andtheoddest，cheekiest，pale-bluechinaeyes。Ofcourseit’sagirl，oritwouldn’tbesobold，bolderthananylittleSirFrancisDrake。’
　　`You’reright，myLady——aregularlittleFlint。Theywerealwaysaforwardsandy-headedfamily，’saidMrsBolton。
　　`Wouldn’tyouliketoseeit，Clifford？I’veaskedthemtoteaforyoutoseeit。’
　　`Who？’heasked，lookingatConnieingreatuneasiness。`MrsFlintandthebaby，nextMonday。’
　　`Youcanhavethemtoteaupinyourroom，’hesaid。
　　`Why，don’tyouwanttoseethebaby？’shecried。
　　`Oh，I’llseeit，butIdon’twanttositthroughatea-timewiththem。’
　　`Oh，’criedConnie，lookingathimwithwideveiledeyes。
　　Shedidnotreallyseehim，hewassomebodyelse。
　　`Youcanhaveanicecosyteaupinyourroom，myLady，andMrsFlintwillbemorecomfortablethanifSirCliffordwasthere，’saidMrsBolton。
　　ShewassureConniehadalover，andsomethinginhersoulexulted。
　　Butwhowashe？Whowashe？PerhapsMrsFlintwouldprovideaclue。
　　Conniewouldnottakeherbaththisevening。Thesenseofhisfleshtouchingher，hisverystickinessuponher，wasdeartoher，andinasenseholy。
　　Cliffordwasveryuneasy。Hewouldnotlethergoafterdinner，andshehadwantedsomuchtobealone。Shelookedathim，butwascuriouslysubmissive。
　　`Shallweplayagame，orshallIreadtoyou，orwhatshallitbe？’
　　heaskeduneasily。
　　`Youreadtome，’saidConnie。
　　`WhatshallIread——verseorprose？Ordrama？’
　　`ReadRacine，’shesaid。
　　Ithadbeenoneofhisstuntsinthepast，toreadRacineintherealFrenchgrandmanner，buthewasrustynow，andalittleself-conscious；
　　hereallypreferredtheloudspeaker。ButConniewassewing，sewingalittlefrocksilkofprimrosesilk，cutoutofoneofherdresses，forMrsFlint’sbaby。Betweencominghomeanddinnershehadcutitout，andshesatinthesoftquiescentraptureofherselfsewing，whilethenoiseofthereadingwenton。
　　Insideherselfshecouldfeelthehummingofpassion，liketheafter-hummingofdeepbells。
　　CliffordsaidsomethingtoherabouttheRacine。Shecaughtthesenseafterthewordshadgone。
　　`Yes!Yes!’shesaid，lookingupathim。`Itissplendid。’
　　Againhewasfrightenedatthedeepblueblazeofhereyes，andofhersoftstillness，sittingthere。Shehadneverbeensoutterlysoftandstill。
　　Shefascinatedhimhelplessly，asifsomeperfumeaboutherintoxicatedhim。Sohewentonhelplesslywithhisreading，andthethroatysoundoftheFrenchwaslikethewindinthechimneystoher。OftheRacinesheheardnotonesyllable。
　　Shewasgoneinherownsoftrapture，likeaforestsoughingwiththedim，gladmoanofspring，movingintobud。Shecouldfeelinthesameworldwithhertheman，thenamelessman，movingonbeautifulfeet，beautifulinthephallicmystery。Andinherselfinallherveins，shefelthimandhischild。Hischildwasinallherveins，likeatwilight。
　　`Forhandsshehathnone，noreyes，norfeet，norgoldenTreasureofhair……’
　　Shewaslikeaforest，likethedarkinterlacingoftheoakwood，humminginaudiblywithmyriadunfoldingbuds。Meanwhilethebirdsofdesirewereasleepinthevastinterlacedintricacyofherbody。
　　ButClifford’svoicewenton，clappingandgurglingwithunusualsounds。
　　Howextraordinaryitwas!Howextraordinaryhewas，bentthereoverthebook，queerandrapaciousandcivilized，withbroadshouldersandnoreallegs!Whatastrangecreature，withthesharp，coldinflexiblewillofsomebird，andnowarmth，nowarmthatall!Oneofthosecreaturesoftheafterwards，thathavenosoul，butanextra-alertwill，coldwill。Sheshudderedalittle，afraidofhim。Butthen，thesoftwarmflameoflifewasstrongerthanhe，andtherealthingswerehiddenfromhim。
　　Thereadingfinished。Shewasstartled。Shelookedup，andwasmorestartledstilltoseeCliffordwatchingherwithpale，uncannyeyes，likehate。
　　`Thankyousomuch!YoudoreadRacinebeautifully!’shesaidsoftly。
　　`Almostasbeautifullyasyoulistentohim，’hesaidcruelly。`Whatareyoumaking？’heasked。
　　`I’mmakingachild’sdress，forMrsFlint’sbaby。’
　　Heturnedaway。Achild!Achild!Thatwasallherobsession。
　　`Afterall，’hesaidinadeclamatoryvoice，`onegetsallonewantsoutofRacine。Emotionsthatareorderedandgivenshapearemoreimportantthandisorderlyemotions。
　　Shewatchedhimwithwide，vague，veiledeyes。`Yes，I’msuretheyare，’
　　shesaid。
　　`Themodernworldhasonlyvulgarizedemotionbylettingitloose。Whatweneedisclassiccontrol。’
　　`Yes，’shesaidslowly，thinkingofhimlisteningwithvacantfacetotheemotionalidiocyoftheradio。`Peoplepretendtohaveemotions，andtheyreallyfeelnothing。Isupposethatisbeingromantic。’
　　`Exactly!’hesaid。
　　Asamatteroffact，hewastired。Thiseveninghadtiredhim。Hewouldratherhavebeenwithhistechnicalbooks，orhispit-manager，orlistening-intotheradio。
　　MrsBoltoncameinwithtwoglassesofmaltedmilk：forClifford，tomakehimsleep，andforConnie，tofattenheragain。Itwasaregularnight-capshehadintroduced。
　　Conniewasgladtogo，whenshehaddrunkherglass，andthankfulsheneedn’thelpCliffordtobed。Shetookhisglassandputitonthetray，thentookthetray，toleaveitoutside。
　　`GoodnightClifford!Dosleepwell!TheRacinegetsintoonelikeadream。Goodnight!’
　　Shehaddriftedtothedoor。Shewasgoingwithoutkissinghimgoodnight。
　　Hewatchedherwithsharp，coldeyes。So!Shedidnotevenkisshimgoodnight，afterhehadspentaneveningreadingtoher。Suchdepthsofcallousnessinher!Evenifthekisswasbutaformality，itwasonsuchformalitiesthatlifedepends。ShewasaBolshevik，really。HerinstinctswereBolshevistic!
　　Hegazedcoldlyandangrilyatthedoorwhenceshehadgone。Anger!
　　Andagainthedreadofthenightcameonhim。Hewasanetworkofnerves，andenhewasnotbraceduptowork，andsofullofenergy：orwhenhewasnotlistening-in，andsoutterlyneuter：thenhewashauntedbyanxietyandasenseofdangerousimpendingvoid。Hewasafraid。AndConniecouldkeepthefearoffhim，ifshewould。Butitwasobviousshewouldn’t，shewouldn’t。Shewascallous，coldandcalloustoallthathedidforher。
　　Hegaveuphislifeforher，andshewascalloustohim。Sheonlywantedherownway。`Theladylovesherwill。’
　　Nowitwasababyshewasobsessedby。Justsothatitshouldbeherown，allherown，andnothis!
　　Cliffordwassohealthy，considering。Helookedsowellandruddyintheface，hisshoulderswerebroadandstrong，hischestdeep，hehadputonflesh。Andyet，atthesametime，hewasafraidofdeath。Aterriblehollowseemedtomenacehimsomewhere，somehow，avoid，andintothisvoidhisenergywouldcollapse。Energyless，hefeltattimeshewasdead，reallydead。
　　Sohisratherprominentpaleeyeshadaqueerlook，furtive，andyetalittlecruel，socold：andatthesametime，almostimpudent。Itwasaveryoddlook，thislookofimpudence：asifheweretriumphingoverlifeinspiteoflife。`Whoknoweththemysteriesofthewill——foritcantriumphevenagainsttheangels——’