“Well father, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m afraid it’s my fault. But it can’t be helped; I’ve done what I could for the moment. I could go on diving, of course—not much, though—and not much use—”
He moved away barefoot, on the planks of the platform. Then he trod on something sharp.
“Of course, you’ve got no shoes on,” said Birkin.
“His shoes are here!” cried Gudrun from below. She was making fast her boat.
Gerald waited for them to be brought to him. Gudrun came with them. He pulled them on his feet.
“If you once die,” he said, “then when it’s over, it’s finished. Why come to life again? There’s room under that water there for thousands.”
“Two is enough,” she said murmuring.
He dragged on his second shoe. He was shivering violently, and his jaw shook as he spoke.
“That’s true,” he said, “maybe. But it’s curious how much room there seems, a whole universe under there; and as cold as hell, you’re as helpless as if your head was cut off.” He could scarcely speak, he shook so violently. “There’s one thing about our family, you know,” he continued. “Once anything goes wrong, it can never be put right again—not with us. I’ve noticed it all my life—you can’t put a thing right, once it has gone wrong.”
They were walking across the high-road to the house.