 done her no
harm.«
    Birkin shook his head.
    »The Amazon suddenly came up in her, I suppose,« he said.
    »Well,« replied Gerald, »I'd rather it had been the Orinoco.«
    They both laughed at the poor joke. Gerald was thinking how Gudrun had said
she would strike the last blow too. But some reserve made him keep this back
from Birkin.
    »And you resent it?« Birkin asked.
    »I don't resent it. I don't care a tinker's curse about it.« He was silent a
moment, then he added, laughing, »No, I'll see it through, that's all. She
seemed sorry afterwards.«
    »Did she? You've not met since that night?«
    Gerald's face clouded.
    »No,« he said. »We've been - you can imagine how it's been, since the
accident.«
    »Yes. Is it calming down?«
    »I don't know. It's a shock, of course. But I don't believe mother minds. I
really don't believe she takes any notice. And what's so funny, she used to be
all for the children - nothing mattered, nothing whatever mattered but the
children. And now, she doesn't take any more notice than if it was one of the
servants.«
    »No? Did it upset you very much?«
    »It's a shock. But I don't feel it very much, really. I don't feel any
different. We've all got to die, and it doesn't seem to make any great
difference, anyhow, whether you die or not. I can't feel any grief, you know. It
leaves me cold. I can't quite account for it.«
    »You don't care if you die or not?« asked Birkin.
    Gerald looked at him with eyes blue as the blue-fibred steel of a weapon. He
felt awkward, but indifferent. As a matter of fact, he did care terribly, with a
great fear.
    »Oh,« he said, »I don't want to die, why should I? But I never trouble. The
question doesn't seem to be on the carpet for me at all. It doesn't interest me,
you know.«
    »Timor mortis conturbat me,« quoted Birkin, adding - »No, death
