‘Makes one mad, too,’ said Birkin. ‘But he has the fascination of pity and repulsion for them, a little obscene monster of the darkness that he is.’

Gerald stood still, suspended in thought.

‘What DO women want, at the bottom?’ he asked.

Birkin shrugged his shoulders.

‘God knows,’ he said. ‘Some satisfaction in basic repulsion, it seems to me. They seem to creep down some ghastly tunnel of darkness, and will never be satisfied till they’ve come to the end.’

Gerald looked out into the mist of fine snow that was blowing by. Everywhere was blind today, horribly blind.

‘And what is the end?’