He still heard as if it were his own disembodied spirit hearing, standing at some distance behind him. It drew nearer however, his spirit. And the violent striking of blood in his chest was sinking quieter, allowing his mind to come back. He realised that he was leaning with all his weight on the soft body of the other man. It startled him, because he thought he had withdrawn. He recovered himself, and sat up. But he was still vague and unestablished. He put out his hand to steady himself. It touched the hand of Gerald, that was lying out on the floor. And Gerald’s hand closed warm and sudden over Birkin’s, they remained exhausted and breathless, the one hand clasped closely over the other. It was Birkin whose hand, in swift response, had closed in a strong, warm clasp over the hand of the other. Gerald’s clasp had been sudden and momentaneous.
The normal consciousness however was returning, ebbing back. Birkin could breathe almost naturally again. Gerald’s hand slowly withdrew, Birkin slowly, dazedly rose to his feet and went towards the table. He poured out a whiskey and soda. Gerald also came for a drink.
“It was a real set-to, wasn’t it?” said Birkin, looking at Gerald with darkened eyes.
“God, yes,” said Gerald. He looked at the delicate body of the other man, and added: “It wasn’t too much for you, was it?”
“No. One ought to wrestle and strive and be physically close. It makes one sane.”
“You do think so?”
“I do. Don’t you?”
“Yes,” said Gerald.
There were long spaces of silence between their words. The wrestling had some deep meaning to them—an unfinished meaning.
“We are mentally, spiritually intimate, therefore we should be more or less physically intimate too—it is more whole.”