Gerald looked like a man coming awake.

‘I think I had none,’ he said.

‘Really!’ she said, with grave laughter in her voice.

And to Birkin it was as if she killed Gerald, with that touch.

‘Ah but,’ cried Gudrun, ‘let us drink to Britannia — let us drink to Britannia.’

It seemed there was wild despair in her voice. Gerald laughed, and filled the glasses.

‘I think Rupert means,’ he said, ‘that NATIONALLY all Englishmen must die, so that they can exist individually and — ’

‘Super-nationally — ’ put in Gudrun, with a slight ironic grimace, raising her glass.