into nowhere.’

‘Into Paradise, he says,’ laughed Gerald.

Gudrun shrugged her shoulders. ‘FE M’EN FICHE of your Paradise!’ she said.

‘Not being a Mohammedan,’ said Gerald. Birkin sat motionless, driving the car, quite unconscious of what they said. And Gudrun, sitting immediately behind him, felt a sort of ironic pleasure in thus exposing him.

‘He says,’ she added, with a grimace of irony, ‘that you can find an eternal equilibrium in marriage, if you accept the unison, and still leave yourself separate, don’t try to fuse.’

‘Doesn’t inspire me,’ said Gerald.

‘That’s