Birkin was standing in the middle of the room, when she was shown in by the landlady. He too was moved outside himself. She saw him agitated and shaken, a frail, unsubstantial body silent like the node of some violent force, that came out from him and shook her almost into a swoon.

‘You are alone?’ he said.

‘Yes — Gudrun could not come.’

He instantly guessed why.

And they were both seated in silence, in the terrible tension of the room. She was aware that it was a pleasant room, full of light and very restful in its form — aware also of a fuchsia tree, with dangling scarlet and purple flowers.

‘How nice the fuchsias are!’ she said, to break the silence.