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Lawrence, D. H. (David Herbert), 1885-1930

"England, My England"


'Did you dive into the pond for me?' she asked.
'No,' he answered. 'I walked in. But I went in overhead as well.'
There was silence for a moment. He hesitated. He very much wanted to go
upstairs to get into dry clothing. But there was another desire in him.
And she seemed to hold him. His will seemed to have gone to sleep, and
left him, standing there slack before her. But he felt warm inside
himself. He did not shudder at all, though his clothes were sodden on
him.
'Why did you?' she asked.
'Because I didn't want you to do such a foolish thing,' he said.
'It wasn't foolish,' she said, still gazing at him as she lay on the
floor, with a sofa cushion under her head. 'It was the right thing to do.
_I_ knew best, then.'
'I'll go and shift these wet things,' he said. But still he had not the
power to move out of her presence, until she sent him. It was as if she
had the life of his body in her hands, and he could not extricate
himself. Or perhaps he did not want to.
Suddenly she sat up. Then she became aware of her own immediate
condition. She felt the blankets about her, she knew her own limbs. For a
moment it seemed as if her reason were going. She looked round, with wild
eye, as if seeking something. He stood still with fear. She saw her
clothing lying scattered.
'Who undressed me?' she asked, her eyes resting full and inevitable on
his face.
'I did,' he replied, 'to bring you round.


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