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# 102 Where the quiet coloured end of evening smiles Miles and miles—‘‘ he was murmuring to himself, like a man condemned to death. Gerald, who was very subtly alert, wary in all his senses, leaned forward and asked smilingly: ’What were you saying?’ Birkin glanced at him, laughed, and repeated: ’’Where the quiet coloured end of evening smiles, Miles and miles, Over pastures where the something something sheep Half asleep—‘‘ Gerald also looked now at the country. And Birkin, who, for some reason was now tired and dispirited, said to him: ’I always feel doomed when the train is running into London. I feel such a despair, so hopeless, as if it were the end of the world.’

#104 Gerald went through the push doors into the large, lofty room where the faces and heads of the drinkers showed dimly through the haze of smoke, reflected more dimly, and repeated ad infinitum in the great mirrors on the walls, so that one seemed to enter a vague, dim world of shadowy drinkers humming within an atmosphere of blue tobacco smoke. There was, however, the red plush of the seats to give substance within the bubble of pleasure.

#109 Still she stared into his face with that slow, full gaze which was so curious and so exciting to him. He was acutely and delightfully conscious of himself, of his own attractiveness. He felt full of strength, able to give off a sort of electric power. And he was aware of her dark, hotlooking eyes upon him. She had beautiful eyes, dark, fully-opened, hot, naked in their looking at him. And on them there seemed to float a film of disintegration, a sort of misery and sullenness, like oil on water. She wore no hat in the heated cafe, her loose, simple jumper was strung on a string round her neck. But it was made of rich peachcoloured crepe-de-chine, that hung heavily and softly from her young throat and her slender wrists. Her appearance was simple and complete, really beautiful, because of her regularity and form, her soft dark hair falling full and level on either side of her head, her straight, small, softened features, Egyptian in the slight fulness of their curves, her slender neck and the simple, rich-coloured smock hanging on her slender shoulders. She was very still, almost null, in her manner, apart and watchful.

She appealed to Gerald strongly. He felt an awful, enjoyable power over her, an instinctive cherishing very near to cruelty. For she was a victim. He felt that she was in his power, and he was generous. The electricity was turgid and voluptuously rich, in his limbs. He would be able to destroy her utterly in the strength of his discharge.

But she was waiting in her separation, given.

#137The Pussum lay in her bed, motionless, her round, dark eyes like black, unhappy pools. He could only see the black, bottomless pools of her eyes. Perhaps she suffered. The sensation of her inchoate suffering roused the old sharp flame in him, a mordant pity, a passion almost of cruelty.

“他不是个人，他危险，不是我们一伙的。”赫麦妮心中反复说着。她很不安，她不得不屈服于他。因为他有着不同于她的逃避力量和生存力量，因为他并不始终如一，不是个真正的男人。她在绝望中恨透了他，这绝望感令她破碎、屈服，她忍受着被肢解的痛苦，她跟一具死尸差不多，除了能感觉到自己的灵与肉正被解体以外，什么都意识不到了。

#197she spun round and round, on two legs, as if she were in the centre of some whirlwind

How sweet the silence is!