The terrible swooning burden on his mind, the awful swooning, the loss of all his control, was too much for him. He grasped her arm in his one hand, as if his hand were iron.
“It’s all right, then, is it?” he said, holding her arrested.
She looked at the face with the fixed eyes, set before her, and her blood ran cold.
“Yes, it’s all right,” she said softly, as if drugged, her voice crooning and witch-like.
He walked on beside her, a striding, mindless body. But he recovered a little as he went. He suffered badly. He had killed his brother when a boy, and was set apart, like Cain.
They found Birkin and Ursula sitting together by the boats, talking and laughing. Birkin had been teasing Ursula.
“Do you smell this little marsh?” he said, sniffing the air. He was very sensitive to scents, and quick in understanding them.
“It’s rather nice,” she said.
“No,” he replied, “alarming.”
“Why alarming?” she laughed.