Then she found his hand, and grasped it in her own firm, small clasp.It was so utterly dark, and yet such a naked statement, that rapid vibrations ran through his blood and over his brain, he was no longer responsible.
Still her voice rang on like a bell, tinged with a tone of mockery.And as she swung her head, her fine mane of hair just swept his face, and all his nerves were on fire, as with a subtle friction of electricity.But the great centre of his force held steady, a magnificent pride to him, at the base of his spine.
They arrived at a large block of buildings, went up in a lift, and presently a door was being opened for them by a Hindu.Gerald looked in surprise, wondering if he were a gentleman, one of the Hindus down from Oxford, perhaps.
But no, he was the man-servant.
`Make tea, Hasan,' said Halliday.
`There is a room for me?' said Birkin.
To both of which questions the man grinned, and murmured.
He made Gerald uncertain, because, being tall and slender and reticent, he looked like a gentleman.
`Who is your servant?' he asked of Halliday.`He looks a swell.'
`Oh yes -- that's because he's dressed in another man's clothes.He's anything but a swell, really.We found him in the road, starving.So Itook him here, and another man gave him clothes.He's anything but what he seems to be -- his only advantage is that he can't speak English and can't understand it, so he's perfectly safe.'
`He's very dirty,' said the young Russian swiftly and silently.
Directly, the man appeared in the doorway.
`What is it?' said Halliday.
The Hindu grinned, and murmured shyly:
`Want to speak to master.'
Gerald watched curiously.The fellow in the doorway was goodlooking and clean-limbed, his bearing was calm, he looked elegant, aristocratic.
Yet he was half a savage, grinning foolishly.Halliday went out into the corridor to speak with him.
`What?' they heard his voice.`What? What do you say? Tell me again.
What? Want money? Want more money? But what do you want money for?'
There was the confused sound of the Hindu's talking, then Halliday appeared in the room, smiling also foolishly, and saying:
`He says he wants money to buy underclothing.Can anybody lend me a shilling? Oh thanks, a shilling will do to buy all the underclothes he wants.' He took the money from Gerald and went out into the passage again, where they heard him saying, `You can't want more money, you had three and six yesterday.You mustn't ask for any more.Bring the tea in quickly.'
Gerald looked round the room.It was an ordinary London sitting-room in a flat, evidently taken furnished, rather common and ugly.But there were several negro statues, wood-carvings from West Africa, strange and disturbing, the carved negroes looked almost like the foetus of a human being.One was a woman sitting naked in a strange posture, and looking tortured, her abdomen stuck out.The young Russian explained that she was sitting in child-birth, clutching the ends of the band that hung from her neck, one in each hand, so that she could bear down, and help labour.The strange, transfixed, rudimentary face of the woman again reminded Gerald of a foetus, it was also rather wonderful, conveying the suggestion of the extreme of physical sensation, beyond the limits of mental consciousness.
`Aren't they rather obscene?' he asked, disapproving.
`I don't know,' murmured the other rapidly.`I have never defined the obscene.I think they are very good.'
Gerald turned away.There were one or two new pictures in the room, in the Futurist manner; there was a large piano.And these, with some ordinary London lodging-house furniture of the better sort, completed the whole.
The Pussum had taken off her hat and coat, and was seated on the sofa.
She was evidently quite at home in the house, but uncertain, suspended.