“Where is Gerald?” said Gudrun.
“He’s dived again,” said Ursula plaintively. “And I know he ought not, with his hurt hand and everything.”
“I’ll take him in home this time,” said Birkin.
The boats swayed again from the wash of steamer. Gudrun and Ursula kept a look-out for Gerald.
“There he is!” cried Ursula, who had the sharpest eyes. He had not been long under. Birkin pulled towards him, Gudrun following. He swam slowly, and caught hold of the boat with his wounded hand. It slipped, and he sank back.
“Why don’t you help him?” cried Ursula sharply.
He came again, and Birkin leaned to help him in to the boat. Gudrun again watched Gerald climb out of the water, but this time slowly, heavily, with the blind clambering motions of an amphibious beast, clumsy. Again the moon shone with faint luminosity on his white wet figure, on the stooping back and the rounded loins. But it looked defeated now, his body, it clambered and fell with slow clumsiness. He was breathing hoarsely too, like an animal that is suffering. He sat slack and motionless in the boat, his head blunt and blind like a seal’s, his whole appearance inhuman, unknowing. Gudrun shuddered as she mechanically followed his boat. Birkin rowed without speaking to the landing-stage.
“Where are you going?” Gerald asked suddenly, as if just waking up.
“Home,” said Birkin.
“Oh no!” said Gerald imperiously. “We can’t go home while they’re in the water. Turn back again, I’m going to find them.” The women were frightened, his voice was so imperative and dangerous, almost mad, not to be opposed.