yet escape from the waltz and the two-step, but feeling his force stir along his limbs and his body, out of captivity. He did not know yet how to dance their convulsive, rag-time sort of dancing, but he knew how to begin. Birkin, when he could get free from the weight of the people present, whom he disliked, danced rapidly and with a real gaiety. And how Hermione hated him for this irresponsible gaiety.
‘Now I see,’ cried the Contessa excitedly, watching his purely gay motion, which he had all to himself. ‘Mr Birkin, he is a changer.’
Hermione looked at her slowly, and shuddered, knowing that only a foreigner could have seen and have said this.
‘Cosa vuol’dire, Palestra?’ she asked, sing-song.