'Not as much as you make out. At any rate, we have enough to eat and
drink--' 'And be satisfied,' added Birkin.
Gerald came near the bed and stood looking down at Birkin whose throat
was exposed, whose tossed hair fell attractively on the warm brow,
above the eyes that were so unchallenged and still in the satirical
face. Gerald, full-limbed and turgid with energy, stood unwilling to
go, he was held by the presence of the other man. He had not the power
to go away.
'So,' said Birkin. 'Good-bye.' And he reached out his hand from under
the bed-clothes, smiling with a glimmering look.
'Good-bye,' said Gerald, taking the warm hand of his friend in a firm
grasp. 'I shall come again. I miss you down at the mill.' 'I'll be there in a few days,' said Birkin.
The eyes of the two men met again. Gerald's, that were keen as a
hawk's, were suffused now with warm light and with unadmitted love,
Birkin looked back as out of a darkness, unsounded and unknown, yet
with a kind of warmth, that seemed to flow over Gerald's brain like a
fertile sleep.
'Good-bye then. There's nothing I can do for you?' 'Nothing, thanks.' Birkin watched the black-clothed form of the other man move out of the
door, the bright head was gone, he turned over to sleep.