‘Good-afternoon,’ replied Birkin coldly.

They were silent as the man passed into the distance.

A clearer look had come over Birkin’s face. He knew she was in the main right. He knew he was perverse, so spiritual on the one hand, and in some strange way, degraded, on the other. But was she herself any better? Was anybody any better?

‘It may all be true, lies and stink and all,’ he said. ‘But Hermione’s spiritual intimacy is no rottener than your emotional-jealous intimacy. One can preserve the decencies, even to one’s enemies: for one’s own sake. Hermione is my enemy — to her last breath! That’s why I must bow her off the field.’

‘You! You and