wilderness。
The next day she went to the station to see him go。 She
looked at him； she turned to him； but he was always so strange
and null……so null。 He was so collected。 She thought it was
that which made him null。 Strangely nothing he was。
Ursula stood near him with a mute； pale face which he would
rather not see。 There seemed some shame at the very root of
life； cold； dead shame for her。
The three made a noticeable group on the station； the girl in
her fur cap and tippet and her olive green costume； pale； tense
with youth； isolated； unyielding； the soldierly young man in a
crush hat and a heavy overcoat； his face rather pale and
reserved above his purple scarf； his whole figure neutral； then
the elder man； a fashionable bowler hat pressed low over his
dark brows； his face warm…coloured and calm； his whole figure
curiously suggestive of full…blooded indifference； he was the
eternal audience； the chorus； the spectator at the drama； in his
own life he would have no drama。
The train was rushing up。 Ursula's heart heaved； but the ice
was frozen too strong upon it。
〃Good…bye；〃 she said； lifting her hand； her face laughing
with her peculiar； blind； almost dazzling laugh。 She wondered
what he was doing； when he stooped and kissed her。 He should be
shaking hands and going。
〃Good…bye；〃 she said again。
He picked up his little bag and turned his back on her。 There
was a hurry along the train。 Ah； here was his carriage。 He took
his seat。 Tom Brangwen shut the door； and the two men shook
hands as the whistle went。
〃Good…bye……and good luck；〃 said Brangwen。
〃Thank you……good…bye。〃
The train moved off。 Skrebensky stood at the carriage window；
waving； but not really looking to the two figures； the girl and
the warm…coloured； almost effeminately…dressed man Ursula waved
her handkerchief。 The train gathered speed； it grew smaller and
smaller。 Still it ran in a straight line。 The speck of white
vanished。 The rear of the train was small in the distance。 Still
she stood on the platform； feeling a great emptiness about her。
In spite of herself her mouth was quivering： she did not want to
cry： her heart was dead cold。
Her Uncle Tom had gone to an automatic machine； and was
getting matches。
〃Would you like some sweets？〃 he said； turning round。
Her face was covered with tears； she made curious； downward
grimaces with her mouth； to get control。 Yet her heart was not
crying……it was cold and earthy。
〃What kind would you like……any？〃 persisted her
uncle。
〃I should love some peppermint drops；〃 she said； in a
strange； normal voice； from her distorted face。 But in a few
moments she had gained control of herself； and was still；
detached。
〃Let us go into the town；〃 he said； and he rushed her into a
train； moving to the town station。 They went to a cafe to drink
coffee； she sat looking at people in the street； and a great
wound was in her breast； a cold imperturbability in her
soul。
This cold imperturbability of spirit continued in her now。 It
was as if some disillusion had frozen upon her； a hard
disbelief。 Part of her had gone cold； apathetic。 She was too
young； too baffled to understand； or even to know that she
suffered much。 And she was too deeply hurt to submit。
She had her blind agonies； when she wanted him； she wanted
him。 But from the moment of his departure； he had bee a
visionary thing of her own。 All her roused torment and passion
and yearning she turned to him。
She kept a diary； in which she wrote impulsive thoughts。
Seeing the moon in the sky； her own heart surcharged； she went
and wrote：
〃If I were the moon； I know where I would fall down。〃
It meant so much to her； that sentence……she put into it
all the anguish of her youth and her young passion and yearning。
She called to him from her heart wherever she went； her limbs
vibrated with anguish towards him wherever she was； the
radiating force of her soul seemed to travel to him； endlessly；
endlessly； and in her soul's own creation； find him。
But who was he； and where did he exist？ In her own desire
only。
She received a post…card from him； and she put it in her
bosom。 It did not mean much to her； really。 The second day； she
lost it； and never even remembered she had had it； till some
days afterwards。
The long weeks went by。 There came the constant bad news of
the war。 And she felt as if all； outside there in the world；
were a hurt； a hurt against her。 And something in her soul
remained cold； apathetic； unchanging。
Her life was always only partial at this time； never did she
live pletely。 There was the cold； unliving part of her。 Yet
she was madly sensitive。 She could not bear herself。 When a
dirty； red…eyed old woman came begging of her in the street； she
started away as from an unclean thing。 And then； when the old
woman shouted acrid insults after her； she winced； her limbs
palpitated with insane torment； she could not bear herself。
Whenever she thought of the red…eyed old woman； a sort of
madness ran in inflammation over her flesh and her brain； she
almost wanted to kill herself。
And in this state； her sexual life flamed into a kind of
disease within her。 She was so overwrought and sensitive； that
the mere touch of coarse wool seemed to tear her nerves。
CHAPTER XII
SHAME
Ursula had only two more terms at school。 She was studying
for her matriculation examination。 It was dreary work； for she
had very little intelligence when she was disjointed from
happiness。 Stubbornness and a consciousness of impending fate
kept her half…heartedly pinned to it。 She knew that soon she
would want to bee a self…responsible person； and her dread
was that she would be prevented。 An all…containing will in her
for plete independence； plete social independence；
plete independence from any personal authority； kept her
dullishly at her studies。 For she knew that she had always her
price of ransom……her femaleness。 She was always a woman；
and what she could not get because she was a human being； fellow
to the rest of mankind； she would get because she was a female；
other than the man。 In her femaleness she felt a secret riches；
a reserve； she had always the price of freedom。
However； she was sufficiently reserved about this last
resource。 The other things should be tried first。 There was the
mysterious man's world to be adventured upon； the world of daily
work and duty； and existence as a working member of the
munity。 Against this she had a subtle grudge。 She wanted to
make her conquest also of this man's world。
So she ground away at her work； never giving it up。 Some
things she liked。 Her subjects were English； Latin； French；
mathematics and history。 Once she knew how to read French and
Latin； the syntax bored her。 Most tedious was the close study of
English literature。 Why should one remember the things one read？
Something in mathematics； their cold absoluteness； fascinated
her； but the actual practice was tedious。 Some people in history
puzzled her and made her ponder； but the political parts angered
her； and she hated ministers。 Only in odd streaks did she get a
poignant sense of acquisition and enrichment and enlarging from
her s