‘that horse is a certain FORM, part of a whole form. It is part of a work of art, a piece of form. It is not a picture of a friendly horse to which you give a lump of sugar, do you see — it is part of a work of art, it has no relation to anything outside that work of art.’

Ursula, angry at being treated quite so insultingly DE HAUT EN BAS, from the height of esoteric art to the depth of general exoteric amateurism, replied, hotly, flushing and lifting her face.

‘But it IS a picture of a horse, nevertheless.’

He lifted his shoulders in another shrug.

‘As you like — it is not a picture of a cow, certainly.’

Here Gudrun broke in, flushed and brilliant, anxious to avoid any more of this, any more of Ursula’s