Skrebensky was put on one corridor; Ursula on the other。 They
felt very lost; in the crowd。
Being lovers; however; they were allowed to be out alone
together as much as they liked。 Yet she felt very strange; in
this crowd of strange people; uneasy; as if she had no privacy。
She was not used to these homogeneous crowds。 She was
afraid。
She felt different from the rest of them; with their hard;
easy; shallow intimacy; that seemed to cost them so little。 She
felt she was not pronounced enough。 It was a kind of
hold…your…own unconventional atmosphere。
She did not like it。 In crowds; in assemblies of people; she
liked formality。 She felt she did not produce the right effect。
She was not effective: she was not beautiful: she was nothing。
Even before Skrebensky she felt unimportant; almost inferior。 He
could take his part very well with the rest。
He and she went out into the night。 There was a moon behind
clouds; shedding a diffused light; gleaming now and again in
bits of smoky mother…of…pearl。 So they walked together on the
wet; ribbed sands near the sea; hearing the run of the long;
heavy waves; that made a ghostly whiteness and a whisper。
He was sure of himself。 As she walked; the soft silk of her
dress……she wore a blue shantung; full…skirted……blew
away from the sea and flapped and clung to her legs。 She wished
it would not。 Everything seemed to give her away; and she could
not rouse herself to deny; she was so confused。
He would lead her away to a pocket in the sand…hills; secret
amid the grey thorn…bushes and the grey; glassy grass。 He held
her close against him; felt all her firm; unutterably desirable
mould of body through the fine fibre of the silk that fell about
her limbs。 The silk; slipping fierily on the hidden; yet
revealed roundness and firmness of her body; her loins; seemed
to run in him like fire; make his brain burn like brimstone。 She
liked it; the electric fire of the silk under his hands upon her