Shecouldonlywait，waitandmoaninspiritasshefelthimwithdrawing，withdrawingandcontracting，comingtotheterriblemomentwhenhewouldslipoutofherandbegone。Whilstallherwombwasopenandsoft，andsoftlyclamouring，likeasea-anemoneunderthetide，clamouringforhimtocomeinagainandmakeafulfilmentforher。Sheclungtohimunconsciousiiipassion，andheneverquiteslippedfromher，andshefeltthesoftbudofhimwithinherstirring，andstrangerhythmsflushingupintoherwithastrangerhythmicgrowingmotion，swellingandswellingtillitfilledallhercleavingconsciousness，andthenbeganagaintheunspeakablemotionthatwasnotreallymotion，butpuredeepeningwhirlpoolsofsensationswirlingdeeperanddeeperthroughallhertissueandconsciousness，tillshewasoneperfectconcentricfluidoffeeling，andshelaytherecryinginunconsciousinarticulatecries。Thevoiceoutoftheuttermostnight，thelife!Themanhearditbeneathhimwithakindofawe，ashislifesprangoutintoher。Andasitsubsided，hesubsidedtooandlayutterlystill，unknowing，whilehergriponhimslowlyrelaxed，andshelayinert。
Andtheylayandknewnothing，notevenofeachother，bothlost。Tillatlasthebegantorouseandbecomeawareofhisdefencelessnakedness，andshewasawarethathisbodywaslooseningitsclasponher。Hewascomingapart；butinherbreastshefeltshecouldnotbearhimtoleaveheruncovered。Hemustcoverhernowforever。
Buthedrewawayatlast，andkissedherandcoveredherover，andbegantocoverhimselfShelaylookinguptotheboughsofthetree，unableasyettomove。Hestoodandfasteneduphisbreeches，lookinground。Allwasdenseandsilent，savefortheaweddogthatlaywithitspawsagainstitsnose。HesatdownagainonthebrushwoodandtookConnie’shandinsilence。
Sheturnedandlookedathim。`Wecameofftogetherthattime，’hesaid。
Shedidnotanswer。
`It’sgoodwhenit’slikethat。Mostfolkslivetheirlivesthroughandtheyneverknowit，’hesaid，speakingratherdreamily。
Shelookedintohisbroodingface。
`Dothey？’shesaid。`Areyouglad？’
Helookedbackintohereyes。`Glad，’hesaid，`Ay，butnevermind。’
Hedidnotwanthertotalk。Andhebentoverherandkissedher，andshefelt，sohemustkissherforever。
Atlastshesatup。
`Don’tpeopleoftencomeofftogether？’sheaskedwithnaivecuriosity。
`Agoodmanyofthemnever。Youcanseebytherawlookofthem。’Hespokeunwittingly，regrettinghehadbegun。
`Haveyoucomeofflikethatwithotherwomen？’
Helookedatheramused。
`Idon’tknow，’hesaid，`Idon’tknow。’
Andsheknewhewouldnevertellheranythinghedidn’twanttotellher。Shewatchedhisface，andthepassionforhimmovedinherbowels。
Sheresisteditasfarasshecould，foritwasthelossofherselftoherself。
Heputonhiswaistcoatandhiscoat，andpushedawaythroughtothepathagain。
Thelastlevelraysofthesuntouchedthewood。`Iwon’tcomewithyou，’hesaid；`betternot。’
Shelookedathimwistfullybeforesheturned。Hisdogwaswaitingsoanxiouslyforhimtogo，andheseemedtohavenothingwhatevertosay。
Nothingleft。
Conniewentslowlyhome，realizingthedepthoftheotherthinginher。
Anotherselfwasaliveinher，burningmoltenandsoftinherwombandbowels，andwiththisselfsheadoredhim。Sheadoredhimtillherkneeswereweakasshewalked。Inherwombandbowelsshewasflowingandalivenowandvulnerable，andhelplessinadorationofhimasthemostnaivewoman。Itfeelslikeachild，shesaidtoherselfitfeelslikeachildinme。Andsoitdid，asifherwomb，thathadalwaysbeenshut，hadopenedandfilledwithnewlife，almostaburden，yetlovely。
`IfIhadachild!’shethoughttoherself；`ifIhadhiminsidemeasachild!’——andherlimbsturnedmoltenatthethought，andsherealizedtheimmensedifferencebetweenhavingachildtooneselfandhavingachildtoamanwhomone’sbowelsyearnedtowards。Theformerseemedinasenseordinary：buttohaveachildtoamanwhomoneadoredinone’sbowelsandone’swomb，itmadeherfeelshewasverydifferentfromheroldselfandasifshewassinkingdeep，deeptothecentreofallwomanhoodandthesleepofcreation。
Itwasnotthepassionthatwasnewtoher，itwastheyearningadoration。
Sheknewshehadalwaysfearedit，foritleftherhelpless；shefeareditstill，lestifsheadoredhimtoomuch，thenshewouldloseherselfbecomeeffaced，andshedidnotwanttobeeffaced，aslave，likeasavagewoman。Shemustnotbecomeaslave。Shefearedheradoration，yetshewouldnotatoncefightagainstit。Sheknewshecouldfightit。Shehadadevilofself-willinherbreastthatcouldhavefoughtthefullsoftheavingadorationofherwombandcrushedit。Shecouldevennowdoit，orshethoughtso，andshecouldthentakeupherpassionwithherownwill。
Ahyes，tobepassionatelikeaBacchante，likeaBacchanalfleeingthroughthewoods，tocallonIacchos，thebrightphallosthathadnoindependentpersonalitybehindit，butwaspuregod-servanttothewoman!Theman，theindividual，lethimnotdareintrude。Hewasbutatemple-servant，thebearerandkeeperofthebrightphallos，herown。
So，inthefluxofnewawakening，theoldhardpassionflamedinherforatime，andthemandwindledtoacontemptibleobject，themerephallos-bearer，tobetorntopieceswhenhisservicewasperformed。ShefelttheforceoftheBacchaeinherlimbsandherbody，thewomangleamingandrapid，beatingdownthemale；butwhileshefeltthis，herheartwasheavy。Shedidnotwantit，itwasknownandbarren，birthless；theadorationwashertreasure。
Itwassofathomless，sosoft，sodeepandsounknown。No，no，shewouldgiveupherhardbrightfemalepower；shewaswearyofit，stiffenedwithit；shewouldsinkinthenewbathoflife，inthedepthsofherwombandherbowelsthatsangthevoicelesssongofadoration。Itwasearlyyettobegintofeartheman。
`IwalkedoverbyMarehay，andIhadteawithMrsFlint，’shesaidtoClifford。`Iwantedtoseethebaby。It’ssoadorable，withhairlikeredcobwebs。Suchadear!MrFlinthadgonetomarket，sosheandIandthebabyhadteatogether。DidyouwonderwhereIwas？’
`Well，Iwondered，butIguessedyouhaddroppedinsomewheretotea，’
saidCliffordjealously。Withasortofsecondsighthesensedsomethingnewinher，somethingtohimquiteincomprehensible，hutheascribedittothebaby。HethoughtthatallthatailedConniewasthatshedidnothaveababy，automaticallybringoneforth，sotospeak。
`Isawyougoacrosstheparktotheirongate，myLady，’saidMrsBolton；
`soIthoughtperhapsyou’dcalledattheRectory。’
`Inearlydid，thenIturnedtowardsMarehayinstead。’
Theeyesofthetwowomenmet：MrsBolton’sgreyandbrightandsearching；
Connie’sblueandveiledandstrangelybeautiful。MrsBoltonwasalmostsureshehadalover，yethowcoulditbe，andwhocoulditbe？Wherewasthereaman？
`Oh，it’ssogoodforyou，ifyougooutandseeabitofcompanysometimes，’
saidMrsBolton。`IwassayingtoSirClifford，itwoulddoherladyshipaworldofgoodifshe’dgooutamongpeoplemore。’
`Yes，I’mgladIwent，andsuchaquaintdearcheekybaby，Clifford，’
saidConnie。`It’sgothairjustlikespider-webs，andbrightorange，andtheoddest，cheekiest，pale-bluechinaeyes。Ofcourseit’sagirl，oritwouldn’tbesobold，bolderthananylittleSirFrancisDrake。’
`You’reright，myLady——aregularlittleFlint。Theywerealwaysaforwardsandy-headedfamily，’saidMrsBolton。
`Wouldn’tyouliketoseeit，Clifford？I’veaskedthemtoteaforyoutoseeit。’
`Who？’heasked，lookingatConnieingreatuneasiness。`MrsFlintandthebaby，nextMonday。’
`Youcanhavethemtoteaupinyourroom，’hesaid。
`Why，don’tyouwanttoseethebaby？’shecried。
`Oh，I’llseeit，butIdon’twanttositthroughatea-timewiththem。’
`Oh，’criedConnie，lookingathimwithwideveiledeyes。
Shedidnotreallyseehim，hewassomebodyelse。
`Youcanhaveanicecosyteaupinyourroom，myLady，andMrsFlintwillbemorecomfortablethanifSirCliffordwasthere，’saidMrsBolton。
ShewassureConniehadalover，andsomethinginhersoulexulted。
Butwhowashe？Whowashe？PerhapsMrsFlintwouldprovideaclue。
Conniewouldnottakeherbaththisevening。Thesenseofhisfleshtouchingher，hisverystickinessuponher，wasdeartoher，andinasenseholy。
Cliffordwasveryuneasy。Hewouldnotlethergoafterdinner，andshehadwantedsomuchtobealone。Shelookedathim，butwascuriouslysubmissive。
`Shallweplayagame，orshallIreadtoyou，orwhatshallitbe？’
heaskeduneasily。
`Youreadtome，’saidConnie。
`WhatshallIread——verseorprose？Ordrama？’
`ReadRacine，’shesaid。
Ithadbeenoneofhisstuntsinthepast，toreadRacineintherealFrenchgrandmanner，buthewasrustynow，andalittleself-conscious；
hereallypreferredtheloudspeaker。ButConniewassewing，sewingalittlefrocksilkofprimrosesilk，cutoutofoneofherdresses，forMrsFlint’sbaby。Betweencominghomeanddinnershehadcutitout，andshesatinthesoftquiescentraptureofherselfsewing，whilethenoiseofthereadingwenton。
Insideherselfshecouldfeelthehummingofpassion，liketheafter-hummingofdeepbells。
CliffordsaidsomethingtoherabouttheRacine。Shecaughtthesenseafterthewordshadgone。
`Yes!Yes!’shesaid，lookingupathim。`Itissplendid。’
Againhewasfrightenedatthedeepblueblazeofhereyes，andofhersoftstillness，sittingthere。Shehadneverbeensoutterlysoftandstill。
Shefascinatedhimhelplessly，asifsomeperfumeaboutherintoxicatedhim。Sohewentonhelplesslywithhisreading，andthethroatysoundoftheFrenchwaslikethewindinthechimneystoher。OftheRacinesheheardnotonesyllable。
Shewasgoneinherownsoftrapture，likeaforestsoughingwiththedim，gladmoanofspring，movingintobud。Shecouldfeelinthesameworldwithhertheman，thenamelessman，movingonbeautifulfeet，beautifulinthephallicmystery。Andinherselfinallherveins，shefelthimandhischild。Hischildwasinallherveins，likeatwilight。
`Forhandsshehathnone，noreyes，norfeet，norgoldenTreasureofhair……’
Shewaslikeaforest，likethedarkinterlacingoftheoakwood，humminginaudiblywithmyriadunfoldingbuds。Meanwhilethebirdsofdesirewereasleepinthevastinterlacedintricacyofherbody。
ButClifford’svoicewenton，clappingandgurglingwithunusualsounds。
Howextraordinaryitwas!Howextraordinaryhewas，bentthereoverthebook，queerandrapaciousandcivilized，withbroadshouldersandnoreallegs!Whatastrangecreature，withthesharp，coldinflexiblewillofsomebird，andnowarmth，nowarmthatall!Oneofthosecreaturesoftheafterwards，thathavenosoul，butanextra-alertwill，coldwill。Sheshudderedalittle，afraidofhim。Butthen，thesoftwarmflameoflifewasstrongerthanhe，andtherealthingswerehiddenfromhim。
Thereadingfinished。Shewasstartled。Shelookedup，andwasmorestartledstilltoseeCliffordwatchingherwithpale，uncannyeyes，likehate。
`Thankyousomuch!YoudoreadRacinebeautifully!’shesaidsoftly。
`Almostasbeautifullyasyoulistentohim，’hesaidcruelly。`Whatareyoumaking？’heasked。
`I’mmakingachild’sdress，forMrsFlint’sbaby。’
Heturnedaway。Achild!Achild!Thatwasallherobsession。
`Afterall，’hesaidinadeclamatoryvoice，`onegetsallonewantsoutofRacine。Emotionsthatareorderedandgivenshapearemoreimportantthandisorderlyemotions。
Shewatchedhimwithwide，vague，veiledeyes。`Yes，I’msuretheyare，’
shesaid。
`Themodernworldhasonlyvulgarizedemotionbylettingitloose。Whatweneedisclassiccontrol。’
`Yes，’shesaidslowly，thinkingofhimlisteningwithvacantfacetotheemotionalidiocyoftheradio。`Peoplepretendtohaveemotions，andtheyreallyfeelnothing。Isupposethatisbeingromantic。’
`Exactly!’hesaid。
Asamatteroffact，hewastired。Thiseveninghadtiredhim。Hewouldratherhavebeenwithhistechnicalbooks，orhispit-manager，orlistening-intotheradio。
MrsBoltoncameinwithtwoglassesofmaltedmilk：forClifford，tomakehimsleep，andforConnie，tofattenheragain。Itwasaregularnight-capshehadintroduced。
Conniewasgladtogo，whenshehaddrunkherglass，andthankfulsheneedn’thelpCliffordtobed。Shetookhisglassandputitonthetray，thentookthetray，toleaveitoutside。
`GoodnightClifford!Dosleepwell!TheRacinegetsintoonelikeadream。Goodnight!’
Shehaddriftedtothedoor。Shewasgoingwithoutkissinghimgoodnight。
Hewatchedherwithsharp，coldeyes。So!Shedidnotevenkisshimgoodnight，afterhehadspentaneveningreadingtoher。Suchdepthsofcallousnessinher!Evenifthekisswasbutaformality，itwasonsuchformalitiesthatlifedepends。ShewasaBolshevik，really。HerinstinctswereBolshevistic!
Hegazedcoldlyandangrilyatthedoorwhenceshehadgone。Anger!
Andagainthedreadofthenightcameonhim。Hewasanetworkofnerves，andenhewasnotbraceduptowork，andsofullofenergy：orwhenhewasnotlistening-in，andsoutterlyneuter：thenhewashauntedbyanxietyandasenseofdangerousimpendingvoid。Hewasafraid。AndConniecouldkeepthefearoffhim，ifshewould。Butitwasobviousshewouldn’t，shewouldn’t。Shewascallous，coldandcalloustoallthathedidforher。
Hegaveuphislifeforher，andshewascalloustohim。Sheonlywantedherownway。`Theladylovesherwill。’
Nowitwasababyshewasobsessedby。Justsothatitshouldbeherown，allherown，andnothis!
Cliffordwassohealthy，considering。Helookedsowellandruddyintheface，hisshoulderswerebroadandstrong，hischestdeep，hehadputonflesh。Andyet，atthesametime，hewasafraidofdeath。Aterriblehollowseemedtomenacehimsomewhere，somehow，avoid，andintothisvoidhisenergywouldcollapse。Energyless，hefeltattimeshewasdead，reallydead。
Sohisratherprominentpaleeyeshadaqueerlook，furtive，andyetalittlecruel，socold：andatthesametime，almostimpudent。Itwasaveryoddlook，thislookofimpudence：asifheweretriumphingoverlifeinspiteoflife。`Whoknoweththemysteriesofthewill——foritcantriumphevenagainsttheangels——’