“Oh it makes me so cross, this assumption of male superiority! And it is such a lie! One wouldn’t mind if there were any justification for it.”
“The wild cat,” said Birkin, “doesn’t mind. She perceives that it is justified.”
“Does she!” cried Ursula. “And tell it to the Horse Marines.”
“To them also.”
“It is just like Gerald Crich with his horse—a lust for bullying—a real Wille zur Macht—so base, so petty.”
“I agree that the Wille zur Macht is a base and petty thing. But with the Mino, it is the desire to bring this female cat into a pure stable equilibrium, a transcendent and abiding rapport with the single male. Whereas without him, as you see, she is a mere stray, a fluffy sporadic bit of chaos. It is a volonté de pouvoir, if you like, a will to ability, taking pouvoir as a verb.”
“Ah—! Sophistries! It’s the old Adam.”
“Oh yes. Adam kept Eve in the indestructible paradise, when he kept her single with himself, like a star in its orbit.”
“Yes—yes—” cried Ursula, pointing her finger at him. “There you are—a star in its orbit! A satellite—a satellite of Mars—that’s what she is to be! There—there—you’ve given yourself away! You want a satellite, Mars and his satellite! You’ve said it—you’ve said it—you’ve dished yourself!”
He stood smiling in frustration and amusement and irritation and admiration and love. She was so quick, and so lambent, like discernible fire, and so vindictive, and so rich in her dangerous flamy sensitiveness.