D.H. Lawrence's Short Stories Thread

[Janine]

Hi, me again...I am finally online again at my house. Yeah!

Here is the next part of the story.

Then, quick, always at his ease, he looked over the room. She waited in front of him. He was ready. Catching the eye of the band, he nodded. In a moment, the music began. He seemed to relax, giving himself up.

"Now then, Elsie," he said, with a curious caress in his voice that seemed to lap the outside of her body in a warm glow, delicious. She gave herself to it. She liked it.

He was an excellent dancer. He seemed to draw her close in to him by some male warmth of attraction, so that she became all soft and pliant to him, flowing to his form, whilst he united her with him and they lapsed along in one movement. She was just carried in a kind of strong, warm flood, her feet moved of themselves, and only the music threw her away from him, threw her back to him, to his clasp, in his strong form moving against her, rhythmically, deliriously.

When it was over, he was pleased and his eyes had a curious gleam which thrilled her and yet had nothing to do with her. Yet it held her. He did not speak to her. He only looked straight into her eyes with a curious, gleaming look that disturbed her fearfully and deliriously. But also there was in his look some of the automatic irony of the roue. It left her partly cold. She was not carried away.

She went, driven by an opposite, heavier impulse, to Whiston. He stood looking gloomy, trying to admit that she had a perfect right to enjoy herself apart from him. He received her with rather grudging kindliness.

"Aren't you going to play whist?" she asked.

"Aye," he said. "Directly."

"I do wish you could dance."

"Well, I can't," he said. "So you enjoy yourself."

"But I should enjoy it better if I could dance with you."

"Nay, you're all right," he said. "I'm not made that way."

"Then you ought to be!" she cried.

"Well, it's my fault, not yours. You enjoy yourself," he bade her. Which she proceeded to do, a little bit irked.

She went with anticipation to the arms of Sam Adams, when the time came to dance with him. It WAS so gratifying, irrespective of the man. And she felt a little grudge against Whiston, soon forgotten when her host was holding her near to him, in a delicious embrace. And she watched his eyes, to meet the gleam in them, which gratified her.

She was getting warmed right through, the glow was penetrating into her, driving away everything else. Only in her heart was a little tightness, like conscience.

When she got a chance, she escaped from the dancing-room to the card-room. There, in a cloud of smoke, she found Whiston playing cribbage. Radiant, roused, animated, she came up to him and greeted him. She was too strong, too vibrant a note in the quiet room. He lifted his head, and a frown knitted his gloomy forehead.

"Are you playing cribbage? Is it exciting? How are you getting on?" she chattered.

He looked at her. None of these questions needed answering, and he did not feel in touch with her. She turned to the cribbage-board.

"Are you white or red?" she asked.

"He's red," replied the partner.

"Then you're losing," she said, still to Whiston. And she lifted the red peg from the board. "One--two--three--four--five--six--seven--eight--right up there you ought to jump--"

"Now put it back in its right place," said Whiston.

"Where was it?" she asked gaily, knowing her transgression. He took the little red peg away from her and stuck it in its hole.
The cards were shuffled.

"What a shame you're losing!" said Elsie.

"You'd better cut for him," said the partner.

She did so, hastily. The cards were dealt. She put her hand on his shoulder, looking at his cards.

"It's good," she cried, "isn't it?"

He did not answer, but threw down two cards. It moved him more strongly than was comfortable, to have her hand on his shoulder, her curls dangling and touching his ears, whilst she was roused to another man. It made the blood flame over him.

At that moment Sam Adams appeared, florid and boisterous, intoxicated more with himself, with the dancing, than with wine. In his eyes the curious, impersonal light gleamed.

"I thought I should find you here, Elsie," he cried boisterously, a disturbing, high note in his voice.

"What made you think so?" she replied, the mischief rousing in her.
The florid, well-built man narrowed his eyes to a smile.

"I should never look for you among the ladies," he said, with a kind of intimate, animal call to her. He laughed, bowed, and offered her his arm.

"Madam, the music waits."
She went almost helplessly, carried along with him, unwilling, yet delighted

[Pensive]

Then, quick, always at his ease, he looked over the room. She waited in front of him. He was ready. Catching the eye of the band, he nodded. In a moment, the music began. He seemed to relax, giving himself up.

"Now then, Elsie," he said, with a curious caress in his voice that seemed to lap the outside of her body in a warm glow, delicious. She gave herself to it. She liked it.

He was an excellent dancer. He seemed to draw her close in to him by some male warmth of attraction, so that she became all soft and pliant to him, flowing to his form, whilst he united her with him and they lapsed along in one movement. She was just carried in a kind of strong, warm flood, her feet moved of themselves, and only the music threw her away from him, threw her back to him, to his clasp, in his strong form moving against her, rhythmically, deliriously.

When it was over, he was pleased and his eyes had a curious gleam which thrilled her and yet had nothing to do with her. Yet it held her. He did not speak to her. He only looked straight into her eyes with a curious, gleaming look that disturbed her fearfully and deliriously. But also there was in his look some of the automatic irony of the roue. It left her partly cold. She was not carried away.

It seems that Elsie was aware of her limitations, and deep inside her, she felt bad for what she had done. This sentence 'it left her party cold' is enough to indicate this I think.

She went, driven by an opposite, heavier impulse, to Whiston. He stood looking gloomy, trying to admit that she had a perfect right to enjoy herself apart from him. He received her with rather grudging kindliness.

"Aren't you going to play whist?" she asked.

"Aye," he said. "Directly."

"I do wish you could dance."

"Well, I can't," he said. "So you enjoy yourself."

"But I should enjoy it better if I could dance with you."

"Nay, you're all right," he said. "I'm not made that way."

"Then you ought to be!" she cried.

"Well, it's my fault, not yours. You enjoy yourself," he bade her. Which she proceeded to do, a little bit irked.

Now the both characters here have annoyed me a bit. I wonder if dancing was not Whiston's thing or did he refuse because he was mad at Elsie deep inside?

But Elsie's response to his refusal is quite childish as well.

She went with anticipation to the arms of Sam Adams, when the time came to dance with him. It WAS so gratifying, irrespective of the man. And she felt a little grudge against Whiston, soon forgotten when her host was holding her near to him, in a delicious embrace. And she watched his eyes, to meet the gleam in them, which gratified her.

She was getting warmed right through, the glow was penetrating into her, driving away everything else. Only in her heart was a little tightness, like conscience.

The charm of Sam Adams and Whiston's refusal seems to have taken that feeling of coldness (and what seems like guilt in the first paragraph) away from her.

When she got a chance, she escaped from the dancing-room to the card-room. There, in a cloud of smoke, she found Whiston playing cribbage. Radiant, roused, animated, she came up to him and greeted him. She was too strong, too vibrant a note in the quiet room. He lifted his head, and a frown knitted his gloomy forehead.

"Are you playing cribbage? Is it exciting? How are you getting on?" she chattered.

He looked at her. None of these questions needed answering, and he did not feel in touch with her. She turned to the cribbage-board.

"Are you white or red?" she asked.

"He's red," replied the partner.

"Then you're losing," she said, still to Whiston. And she lifted the red peg from the board. "One--two--three--four--five--six--seven--eight--right up there you ought to jump--"

"Now put it back in its right place," said Whiston.

"Where was it?" she asked gaily, knowing her transgression. He took the little red peg away from her and stuck it in its hole.
The cards were shuffled.

"What a shame you're losing!" said Elsie.

"You'd better cut for him," said the partner.

She did so, hastily. The cards were dealt. She put her hand on his shoulder, looking at his cards.

"It's good," she cried, "isn't it?"

That was quite nasty! I found it annoying. It seems like Elsie wanted to get Whiston's attention and she was getting annoyed for not having gotten it. But again, her response to her was childish.

He did not answer, but threw down two cards. It moved him more strongly than was comfortable, to have her hand on his shoulder, her curls dangling and touching his ears, whilst she was roused to another man. It made the blood flame over him.

I can sumpathise with Whiston here at this moment.

At that moment Sam Adams appeared, florid and boisterous, intoxicated more with himself, with the dancing, than with wine. In his eyes the curious, impersonal light gleamed.

"I thought I should find you here, Elsie," he cried boisterously, a disturbing, high note in his voice.

"What made you think so?" she replied, the mischief rousing in her.
The florid, well-built man narrowed his eyes to a smile.

"I should never look for you among the ladies," he said, with a kind of intimate, animal call to her. He laughed, bowed, and offered her his arm.

"Madam, the music waits."
She went almost helplessly, carried along with him, unwilling, yet delighted

Ah this flattery, weakness of the most!

[Janine]

Pensive, happy to see you here and responding to the story. I have slowed up some; I suppose I have needed a rest, to some degree. I have to go out today to do more errands, so I was only checking the threads briefly, but later on tonight I would like to respond to your post.
You sure are mad at both characters! I laughed, thinking "poor, Pensive, is riled up about them so".
I agree with your observations and interpretations and to some I disagree, or at least have some separate thoughts on these passages to add. Some is from previous reading of Lawrence's work and making use of 'dance scenes' to convey certain things. Dance scenes appear often in Lawrence novels and short stories. I will go into that later on.

[Janine]

Hi Pensive, I requoted the text, since it is easier for me to follow the comments you have made. It seems there are four distinctive scenes here and so I divided them by a row of stars. I also underlined some lines I feel are significant or give hints to what interaction is going on between the characters. There is much interaction in these four short scenes. First the dance:

Then, quick, always at his ease, he looked over the room. She waited in front of him. He was ready. Catching the eye of the band, he nodded. In a moment, the music began. He seemed to relax, giving himself up.

"Now then, Elsie," he said, with a curious caress in his voice that seemed to lap the outside of her body in a warm glow, delicious. She gave herself to it. She liked it.

He was an excellent dancer. He seemed to draw her close in to him by some male warmth of attraction, so that she became all soft and pliant to him, flowing to his form, whilst he united her with him and they lapsed along in one movement. She was just carried in a kind of strong, warm flood, her feet moved of themselves, and only the music threw her away from him, threw her back to him, to his clasp, in his strong form moving against her, rhythmically, deliriously.

When it was over, he was pleased and his eyes had a curious gleam which thrilled her and yet had nothing to do with her. Yet it held her. He did not speak to her. He only looked straight into her eyes with a curious, gleaming look that disturbed her fearfully and deliriously. But also there was in his look some of the automatic irony of the roue. It left her partly cold. She was not carried away.

It seems that Elsie was aware of her limitations, and deep inside her, she felt bad for what she had done. This sentence 'it left her party cold' is enough to indicate this I think.

I am not sure what you mean by 'limitations' or is it that you are referring to the fact that she loves Whiston and she is keeping her true self for him, striving to be faithful to him. Perhaps you meant to say 'his' limitations. I felt she sensed that Sam Adams might be a great dancer, sweeping her off her feet, but that he lacked the true qualities that her husband possessed. Something seems to be missing between them. The dance is purely physical attraction. It recalls me to many a scene Lawrence has written about dances, even those within a house - wasn't there one in "Sons and Lovers" in a parlor? I know there was one in his first novel "The White Peacock". It was quite lusty and a lot of attraction was going on, as in this passage above, a lot of pulling away and towards each other - man and woman, also. If you note the words I underlined you can clearly see how suggestively sexual Lawrence is expressing that dance. Later the dance becomes even more sexually oriented. Although Elsie does not cheat on her husband, it is like a representation of cheating, in a way. In "Women in Love" there is also a graphic, rythmic, lusty dance scene and another scene especially pronounced in one of L's Travel books - I think "Twilight in Italy". If you go to the main Lawrence page someone (back, awhile ago) posted comments on that dance scene; I believe Virgil commented, also. If you notice there is a rthymn in the dance that very much mimics sexual activity between the man and woman. Therefore, I would agree with you that after the dancing Elsie does feel quilty, as though she did cheat on her husband. I think during the dancing she feels flattered, but vulnerable towards Sam Adams advances, don't you?

First he is 'giving himself up' to the dance and to her, then she "gave herself to it" - to the dance and to him, in a sense, even though temporarily. Now by the end of that passage, she is "not carried away". It is curious that in just so many lines Lawrence has changed that strong attraction to being no longer an attraction - "not carried away"....so in a sense she comes back to reality and knows he is not the one for her, but rather her husband is and so she turns to seeking him out and the card game.


************************************************** *****
Second scene:

She went, driven by an opposite, heavier impulse, to Whiston. He stood looking gloomy, trying to admit that she had a perfect right to enjoy herself apart from him. He received her with rather grudging kindliness.

"Aren't you going to play whist?" she asked.

"Aye," he said. "Directly."

"I do wish you could dance."

"Well, I can't," he said. "So you enjoy yourself."

"But I should enjoy it better if I could dance with you."

"Nay, you're all right," he said. "I'm not made that way."

"Then you ought to be!" she cried.

"Well, it's my fault, not yours. You enjoy yourself," he bade her. Which she proceeded to do, a little bit irked.

Now the both characters here have annoyed me a bit. I wonder if dancing was not Whiston's thing or did he refuse because he was mad at Elsie deep inside?

But Elsie's response to his refusal is quite childish as well.

If you notice in the first paragraph and first few lines he is grudingly telling her to go have a good time and enjoy herself. He seems to be playing the sulking husband. He is obviously not very sincere about what he says to her. He is taking on a sort of 'martyr' role. Perhaps it is part of the game they seem to be playing or maybe it is subconsious, but you are right - they are both acting childishly. I don't think Whiston danced or maybe just not as good a dancer as Sam Adams, but maybe he did and is just being stubborn and lording power over his wife by refusing to dance. That would go along with the way Lawrence wrote. Often he does write of the power of one character over another, especially when it come to the opposite sexes. For instance when Teddy says: "it's my fault, not yours." is he trying to make her feel quilty in the long run about dancing with SA? I wonder, since I don't feel he is being very sincere or truthful at all. He is being sort of 'passive agressive', I think, in some ways.



************************************************** ******
Third scene:

She went with anticipation to the arms of Sam Adams, when the time came to dance with him. It WAS so gratifying, irrespective of the man. And she felt a little grudge against Whiston, soon forgotten when her host was holding her near to him, in a delicious embrace. And she watched his eyes, to meet the gleam in them, which gratified her.

She was getting warmed right through, the glow was penetrating into her, driving away everything else. Only in her heart was a little tightness, like conscience.

As you can see by the underlined phrases she is now feeling more free to enjoy herself but inwardly she does feel a "little grudge" and then "a little tightness, like conscience" in her heart. She does not seem too disturbed by it at this point, but she does seem to be swept away more effectively this time around and the passages continue to be suggestive of a sexual union, so that in her own mind she might feel she is cheating on Whiston, thus the guilt creeping in. It is a kind of symbolic cheating.

The charm of Sam Adams and Whiston's refusal seems to have taken that feeling of coldness (and what seems like guilt in the first paragraph) away from her.

As warm as the scene has been up to this point, it does seems now that the feeling is becoming one of coldness or remoteness to SA.

************************************************** ******

Fourth scene:

When she got a chance, she escaped from the dancing-room to the card-room. There, in a cloud of smoke, she found Whiston playing cribbage. Radiant, roused, animated, she came up to him and greeted him. She was too strong, too vibrant a note in the quiet room. He lifted his head, and a frown knitted his gloomy forehead.

"Are you playing cribbage? Is it exciting? How are you getting on?" she chattered.

He looked at her. None of these questions needed answering, and he did not feel in touch with her. She turned to the cribbage-board.

"Are you white or red?" she asked.

"He's red," replied the partner.

"Then you're losing," she said, still to Whiston. And she lifted the red peg from the board. "One--two--three--four--five--six--seven--eight--right up there you ought to jump--"

"Now put it back in its right place," said Whiston.

"Where was it?" she asked gaily, knowing her transgression. He took the little red peg away from her and stuck it in its hole.
The cards were shuffled.

"What a shame you're losing!" said Elsie.

"You'd better cut for him," said the partner.

She did so, hastily. The cards were dealt. She put her hand on his shoulder, looking at his cards.

"It's good," she cried, "isn't it?"

That was quite nasty! I found it annoying. It seems like Elsie wanted to get Whiston's attention and she was getting annoyed for not having gotten it. But again, her response to her was childish.

Yes, it was quite nasty of her and to rub in the fact that he was losing. That would be very deflating to a man's ego, don't you think? Obviously she is playing this control game by acting as she is. She is elated and vibrant from the dance and wishes to lord this over her husband or to let him see how lively and gay she has become inspite of his refusal to dance. This little scene shows again to us that Whiston was not sincere about her having a good time without him. He is totally annoyed and gloomy over it - "a frown knitted his gloomy forehead". So he is sulking and playing the martyr, I think. He sort of set her up for his own gloomy state, so he could blame her I think, another 'passive agressive' type move.

He did not answer, but threw down two cards. It moved him more strongly than was comfortable, to have her hand on his shoulder, her curls dangling and touching his ears, whilst she was roused to another man. It made the blood flame over him.

This is odd but he seemed to have set it up so he could feel this arousal which is brought on by her being arroused by the other man. "It made the blood flame over him"....curious statement. Also being in contact with her "moved him strongly than was comfortable".

I can sumpathise with Whiston here at this moment.

I don't know if I do totally sympathise with him. I don't know how I feel about that yet. I feel badly for him in one instance/ but he seemed to bring some of this on himself by not being sociable at this dance with his wife.

At that moment Sam Adams appeared, florid and boisterous, intoxicated more with himself, with the dancing, than with wine. In his eyes the curious, impersonal light gleamed.

"I thought I should find you here, Elsie," he cried boisterously, a disturbing, high note in his voice.

"What made you think so?" she replied, the mischief rousing in her.
The florid, well-built man narrowed his eyes to a smile.

"I should never look for you among the ladies," he said, with a kind of intimate, animal call to her. He laughed, bowed, and offered her his arm.

"Madam, the music waits."
She went almost helplessly, carried along with him, unwilling, yet delighted.

At the end of these 4 passages and scenes this scene encompasses all three parties - SA, Elsie, and Teddy. I see the scenes alternating in a rythmic pattern which mimics the dancing and the rythms present there. At this last scene in this set it comes full circle with all the people together in one room.

Ah this flattery, weakness of the most!

Yes, definitely - what do they say "flattery will get your everywhere". or is it "nowhere" ? in this case it will be the later.

Hope all of this makes sense to you, Pensive, sorry it took me so long to respond. J

Pensive, when you read this if you want to - comment and then let me know and I will post next part of the story.

[Janine]

I decided to advance this story and post the next section:

That dance was an intoxication to her. After the first few steps, she felt herself slipping away from herself. She almost knew she was going, she did not even want to go. Yet she must have chosen to go. She lay in the arm of the steady, close man with whom she was dancing, and she seemed to swim away out of contact with the room, into him. She had passed into another, denser element of him, an essential privacy. The room was all vague around her, like an atmosphere, like under sea, with a flow of ghostly, dumb movements. But she herself was held real against her partner, and it seemed she was connected with him, as if the movements of his body and limbs were her own movements, yet not her own movements--and oh, delicious! He also was given up, oblivious, concentrated, into the dance. His eye was unseeing. Only his large, voluptuous body gave off a subtle activity. His fingers seemed to search into her flesh. Every moment, and every moment, she felt she would give way utterly, and sink molten: the fusion point was coming when she would fuse down into perfect unconsciousness at his feet and knees. But he bore her round the room in the dance, and he seemed to sustain all her body with his limbs, his body, and his warmth seemed to come closer into her, nearer, till it would fuse right through her, and she would be as liquid to him, as an intoxication only.

It was exquisite. When it was over, she was dazed, and was scarcely breathing. She stood with him in the middle of the room as if she were alone in a remote place. He bent over her. She expected his lips on her bare shoulder, and waited. Yet they were not alone, they were not alone. It was cruel.

"'Twas good, wasn't it, my darling?" he said to her, low and delighted. There was a strange impersonality about his low, exultant call that appealed to her irresistibly. Yet why was she aware of some part shut off in her? She pressed his arm, and he led her towards the door.
She was not aware of what she was doing, only a little grain of resistant trouble was in her. The man, possessed, yet with a superficial presence of mind, made way to the dining-room, as if to give her refreshment, cunningly working to his own escape with her. He was molten hot, filmed over with presence of mind, and bottomed with cold disbelief.

Wow, this dance scene, the way Lawrence has written it, is infused with sensuality and very suggestive.
I will add specific comments to this part of the story tomorrow.

[grace86]

I finished the story Janine!

From the part that was posted, I did notice how childish Elsie seemed to be.

Will post some more later, but what in the world is Sam Adams supposed to mean when he says "I should never look for you among the ladies" --that was kind of presumptuous. I would have thought Whiston would have taken her away or gotten angry at this point.

I didn't like Elsie, I don't know if she was testing her limits on freedom or testing Whiston's love for her based on his reactions.

I would think if she had loved him she wouldn't have gone off dancing with someone else.

Eh those are initial thoughts, be back later.

[Janine]

Hi Grace, so happy to see you here again. Take your time; I have lots of patience. Thank you for posting; I was feeling quite lonely. I did my laundry and yes, thought of you - haha....but now I am all tired out. Drank coffee earlier and the effects seem to have worn off too fast. I can't think now to post and my finger hurts, too - think it is infected by the nail (I am a wreck today). I will try to write tomorrow and expound on the new part I just posted. Feel free to do so also, if you are inclined to, before me. Good remarks you made so far. I don't think I like her that much either and she is so childish - I agree with that, but it seems that Teddy alows her to be this way without putting his foot down (well up till this point in the story).

Thanks again for posting and glad you finished the story.

[Janine]

Note: The following is a requoting of the text - 4 posts back.

That dance was an intoxication to her. After the first few steps, she felt herself slipping away from herself. She almost knew she was going, she did not even want to go. Yet she must have chosen to go. She lay in the arm of the steady, close man with whom she was dancing, and she seemed to swim away out of contact with the room, into him. She had passed into another, denser element of him, an essential privacy. The room was all vague around her, like an atmosphere, like under sea, with a flow of ghostly, dumb movements. But she herself was held real against her partner, and it seemed she was connected with him, as if the movements of his body and limbs were her own movements, yet not her own movements--and oh, delicious! He also was given up, oblivious, concentrated, into the dance. His eye was unseeing. Only his large, voluptuous body gave off a subtle activity. His fingers seemed to search into her flesh. Every moment, and every moment, she felt she would give way utterly, and sink molten: the fusion point was coming when she would fuse down into perfect unconsciousness at his feet and knees. But he bore her round the room in the dance, and he seemed to sustain all her body with his limbs, his body, and his warmth seemed to come closer into her, nearer, till it would fuse right through her, and she would be as liquid to him, as an intoxication only.

In this first paragraph I notice certain phrases that really stand out:"dance was an intoxication to her" , then "she felt herself slipping away from herself". The dance is almost like a drug to Elsie as it draws her into it and 'she is slipping away from herself' - interesting statement - as though she is acting in an unconscious manner. The next statement is quite curious I think:
"She almost knew she was going, she did not even want to go. Yet she must have chosen to go." This too, further indicates that her action/reaction to the dance is 'unconscious' or 'subconscious'.
"She lay in the arm of the steady, close man with whom she was dancing, and she seemed to swim away out of contact with the room, into him. She had passed into another, denser element of him, an essential privacy. The room was all vague around her, like an atmosphere, like under sea, with a flow of ghostly, dumb movements."
This dance is very intimate - not just a dance. In her subconscious state "she has passed into another denser element of him", then "essential privacy". The last line and the key words make it very organic and nearly primal in the aspect of being under the sea and in a ghostly realm of unconsciousness. The body has taken control of the mind and dominated as it often characteristic of Lawrence's ideas and work. The next line seems to indicate the physical aspects of this union as though the bodies of the two are now one and yet not - a dicotomy - "movements of his body and limbs were her own movements, yet not her own movements" then ends with "--and oh, delicious!" obviously reflexing the desirable effects of the dance. The next line shifts to SA and that he is "given up, oblivious, concentrated, into the dance. His eye was unseeing." Again mimicing the idea of (unseeing)subconscious or unconsiously dancing and being swept along by the partner - fully absorbed in the moment. These two lines are self suggestive of intimate physical contact - "his large, voluptuous body gave off a subtle activity" and then "His fingers seemed to search into her flesh".
"Every moment, and every moment," good use of repetition to set up a rhythm of the dancing and the delerium at this point. The next line is one of almost total submission and consumation of the flesh or of the 'fantasy' of the dance and the unconscious union of the man and the woman: "she felt she would give way utterly, and sink molten: the fusion point was coming when she would fuse down into perfect unconsciousness at his feet and knees." Then the last part further emphasises this idea: "his warmth seemed to come closer into her, nearer, till it would fuse right through her, and she would be as liquid to him, as an intoxication only."
Interesting how the first line of this paragraph ends with the same word - "intoxication" - first line: "That dance was an intoxication to her."

It was exquisite. When it was over, she was dazed, and was scarcely breathing. She stood with him in the middle of the room as if she were alone in a remote place. He bent over her. She expected his lips on her bare shoulder, and waited. Yet they were not alone, they were not alone. It was cruel.

Now Lawrence is calling the whole experience "exquisite". Is this in the eyes of Elsie or SA? or just a general observation of what has just transpired between them. Now she is 'dazed and scarely breathing'. The next line now says ' as if she were alone in a remote place'. The last 4 statements of this paragraph are odd to me - why did 'she expect his lips on her bare shoulder' and then it said she 'waited'? Then the last line seems again to indicate the separation and remoteness when we return to reality where they are 'not alone', another use of repetition to emphasis this fact. She feels the calling back to this reality - 'cruel' - I believe that is what is being indicated here.

"'Twas good, wasn't it, my darling?" he said to her, low and delighted. There was a strange impersonality about his low, exultant call that appealed to her irresistibly. Yet why was she aware of some part shut off in her? She pressed his arm, and he led her towards the door.
She was not aware of what she was doing, only a little grain of resistant trouble was in her. The man, possessed, yet with a superficial presence of mind, made way to the dining-room, as if to give her refreshment, cunningly working to his own escape with her. He was molten hot, filmed over with presence of mind, and bottomed with cold disbelief.

Now the third paragraph is a reminescence of the dance and the moment - again almost like recalling a sexual encounter, isn't it? Interesting that the second line states "a strange impersonality about his low, exultant call that appealed to her irresistibly." Does this mean that now he is more detached and distinct it only makes him more irresistable to her? Sort of like what one can't have one desires? The next line askes "why was she aware of some part shut off in her?" This part confuses me. Is it that she is definicent in some way towards true intimacy? But he is not her husband so I don't quite understand what L is getting at in this statement. Any ideas anyone?
Then this statement seems to further indicate the way she is feeling "a little grain of resistant trouble was in her", so although the dance was exhilerating it was not completely satisfying to her since she still had this 'grain of resistent trouble in her'. Could that be conscience?
The last line seems to sum up SA in the final analysis: "He was molten hot, filmed over with presence of mind, and bottomed with cold disbelief. But why was he 'bottomed in cold disbelief'? Was this in the eyes of Elsie or just a general observation on the part of Lawrence, as narrator? The word "disbelief' throws me off. Anyone have an idea on this last statement?

[Janine]

I seem to be doing this story all by myself...ho...hum....so it goes...

Posting next part of the story (I am determined to finish it up before the month is through):

I underlined the key words/phrases:

In the dining-room was Whiston, carrying coffee to the plain, neglected ladies. Elsie saw him, but felt as if he could not see her. She was beyond his reach and ken. A sort of fusion existed between her and the large man at her side. She ate her custard, but an incomplete fusion all the while sustained and contained her within the being of her employer.

So obviously poor Whiston is now subject to carrying coffee to the "plain and neglected ladies". He is a 'nice' guy and standing on the sidelines while his wife is flamboyantly dancing. She is "beyond his reach and ken" and then 'she sees Whiston', but 'he cannot seem to see her'. So instead she feels a "sort of fusion" with Sam Adams, yet is is an 'incomplete fusion' she knows, even though for now it is 'sustaining and containing' her within the confines of Sam Adam's being.

But she was growing cooler. Whiston came up. She looked at him, and saw him with different eyes. She saw his slim, young man's figure real and enduring before her. That was he. But she was in the spell with the other man, fused with him, and she could not be taken away.

Now she seems to be "growing cooler"...the melt-down from the frenzied dancing. She looks at Whiston and sees him with different eyes now. She admires him and once again feels he is "real and enduring" - unlike the momentary passion she has just felt dancing with Sam Adams. The spell is what is drawing her back to the other man. This and making her feel "fused" to the other man. But a "spell" is not lasting and she knows this at this moment.

"Have you finished your cribbage?" she asked, with hasty evasion of him.

"Yes," he replied. "Aren't you getting tired of dancing?"

"Not a bit," she said.

"Not she," said Adams heartily. "No girl with any spirit gets tired of dancing.--Have something else, Elsie. Come--sherry. Have a glass of sherry with us, Whiston."

Whilst they sipped the wine, Adams watched Whiston almost cunningly, to find his advantage.

"We'd better be getting back--there's the music," he said. "See the women get something to eat, Whiston, will you, there's a good chap."

Rather ignorant and condescending remark I think to poor Whiston - shows what a jerk this Sam Adams is, doesn't it? And in the beginning of this passage Elsie is still playing the game - although trying now to pay some bit of attention to Whiston she is still evading him - see first line. Sam Adams makes a remark to Whiston about how spirited Elsie is, adding "insult to injury" to poor Whiston, because Whiston is so opposite - more retiring and not dancing. Adams is looking over Whiston to find his advantage. He is very cunning in his approach. There is much tension here between the three characters.

And he began to draw away. Elsie was drifting helplessly with him. But Whiston put himself beside them, and went along with them. In silence they passed through to the dancing-room. There Adams hesitated, and looked round the room. It was as if he could not see.

Again she is being lead unconsciously to the dance floor. She doesn't seem to have a conscious 'will' to resist. Curisous last statement - "It was as if he could not see." - I am not sure what Lawrence means by this exactly. This passage with the three men - the couple and the rival male being in close proximity to each other reminds me somewhat of the last story we did, in "Shades of Love" when the two men walk off together and the woman looks on or the meeting in the hut with all three characters. All throughout this scene it is either he and she (Adams and Elsie) or he and she (Whiston and Elsie) and finally all three together observing closely each other.

A man came hurrying forward, claiming Elsie, and Adams went to his other partner. Whiston stood watching during the dance. She was conscious of him standing there observant of her, like a ghost, or a judgment, or a guardian angel. She was also conscious, much more intimately and impersonally, of the body of the other man moving somewhere in the room. She still belonged to him, but a feeling of distraction possessed her, and helplessness. Adams danced on, adhering to Elsie, waiting his time, with the persistence of cynicism.

Now oddly enough, another man takes Elsie onto the dance floor, replacing SA - yet she is conscious/aware all the time of SA watching her. He is like a ghost to her or a judgement or guardian angel. I am not sure what to make of the three references, entirely...only that they are all somewhat of a different realm than her true reality. Judgement throws me off a bit though. Not only is she conscious of SA, but also the body of Whiston moving around in the room. Now she feels the pull back towards him in a physical sense. In the beginning during the dance, she was not conscious at all of poor Whiston, in fact she was rather preoccuppied and oblivious that he even existed. Interesting last lines about Sam Adams - "persistence of cynicism".

The dance was over. Adams was detained. Elsie found herself beside Whiston. There was something shapely about him as he sat, about his knees and his distinct figure, that she clung to. It was as if he had enduring form. She put her hand on his knee.

Again she is pulled back to the physical attraction she has for Whiston. Most importantly is the statement that he had "enduring form." - Does this refer to him physically or as a whole being - body and spirit?

"Are you enjoying yourself?" he asked.

"Ever so," she replied, with a fervent, yet detached tone.

"It's going on for one o'clock," he said.

"Is it?" she answered. It meant nothing to her.

"Should we be going?" he said.

She was silent. For the first time for an hour or more an inkling of her normal consciousness returned. She resented it.

I find this interesting, that she feels her old consciousness returning, but she 'resents' it. I am not quite sure why she does, maybe except that real life can be less gay and glamorous and not continually blissful, like a drug, as the dance was to her. Reality is a mixed deal and so to return to it is to leave the 'fantasy world' behind. Is she now resenting that fact? She is being childish and selfish then, to a great extent.

"What for?" she said.

"I thought you might have had enough," he said.

A slight soberness came over her, an irritation at being frustrated of her illusion.

"Why?" she said.

Again being selfish and not very considerate of Whiston at all. Thinking only of her own pleasure and satisfaction. She is "frustrated of her illusion" - a statement that now describes that she has left the illusion and feels frustrated by it all, and irritated at being so. Quite a confusing state to be in.

"We've been here since nine," he said.
That was no answer, no reason. It conveyed nothing to her. She sat detached from him. Across the room Sam Adams glanced at her. She sat there exposed for him.

His answer conveys nothing to her; is that due to her not really taking him seriously or not really paying heed to his words? Next statement says she is 'detached' from him, yet the following statement again indicates the attachment or fact that SA's presense is still very much there in the room, in that she feels now "exposed to him".

"You don't want to be too free with Sam Adams," said Whiston cautiously, suffering. "You know what he is."

"How, free?" she asked.

"Why--you don't want to have too much to do with him."

She sat silent. He was forcing her into consciousness of her position. But he could not get hold of her feelings, to change them. She had a curious, perverse desire that he should not.

This entire paragraph is interesting. He is warning her of the way she knows Sam Adams is indicating the man is - a womaniser. Next, in the fact that he was "forcing her into consciousness", and second that that "he could not get hold of her feelings", again to alter her or "change them". Last statement indicates she has "perverse desire that he does not, "... does not get 'control' over her.

"I like him," she said.

"What do you find to like in him?" he said, with a hot heart.

"I don't know--but I like him," she said.

Last 3 lines are also curious. Really Elsie cannot consciously state why she likes Sam Adams. Is it because subconscious states cannot really be explained?

[quasimodo1]

To Janine: You may think you are alone but I read this thread quite thouroughly and although I don't post much (because I havn't re-read the book), and have not voted...doesn't mean others are not interested. BTW you must check out my last e.e.cummings posting. It is prose poetry at it's best. quasi

[Janine]

To Janine: You may think you are alone but I read this thread quite thouroughly and although I don't post much (because I havn't re-read the book), and have not voted...doesn't mean others are not interested. BTW you must check out my last e.e.cummings posting. It is prose poetry at it's best. quasi

Quasi, thanks so much for paying close attention to this thread. It is good to know someone is reading it now. This is not a book - just a short story. Were you thinking of the other thread - the "Women in Love" thread? I did not have a chance to check out your e e thread yet - the prose poem - but I will now. Then I am going out again; real life calls to me. Be back later to check on things on here and post, then onto some emails and a few replies. Bye for now and thanks again for checking out the posts! ~ J

[Janine]

Posting next part of the story and will revise later with comments:

She was immutable. He sat feeling heavy and dulled with rage. He was not clear as to what he felt. He sat there unliving whilst she danced. And she, distracted, lost to herself between the opposing forces of the two men, drifted. Between the dances, Whiston kept near to her. She was scarcely conscious. She glanced repeatedly at her card, to see when she would dance again with Adams, half in desire, half in dread. Sometimes she met his steady, glaucous eye as she passed him in the dance. Sometimes she saw the steadiness of his flank as he danced. And it was always as if she rested on his arm, were borne along, upborne by him, away from herself. And always there was present the other's antagonism. She was divided.

The time came for her to dance with Adams. Oh, the delicious closing of contact with him, of his limbs touching her limbs, his arm supporting her. She seemed to resolve. Whiston had not made himself real to her. He was only a heavy place in her consciousness.

But she breathed heavily, beginning to suffer from the closeness of strain. She was nervous. Adams also was constrained. A tightness, a tension was coming over them all. And he was exasperated, feeling something counteracting physical magnetism, feeling a will stronger with her than his own, intervening in what was becoming a vital necessity to him.

Elsie was almost lost to her own control. As she went forward with him to take her place at the dance, she stooped for her pocket-handkerchief. The music sounded for quadrilles. Everybody was ready. Adams stood with his body near her, exerting his attraction over her. He was tense and fighting. She stooped for her pocket-handkerchief, and shook it as she rose. It shook out and fell from her hand. With agony, she saw she had taken a white stocking instead of a handkerchief. For a second it lay on the floor, a twist of white stocking. Then, in an instant, Adams picked it up, with a little, surprised laugh of triumph.

"That'll do for me," he whispered--seeming to take possession of her. And he stuffed the stocking in his trousers pocket, and quickly offered her his handkerchief.

The dance began. She felt weak and faint, as if her will were turned to water. A heavy sense of loss came over her. She could not help herself anymore. But it was peace.

When the dance was over, Adams yielded her up. Whiston came to her.

"What was it as you dropped?" Whiston asked.

"I thought it was my handkerchief--I'd taken a stocking by mistake," she said, detached and muted.

"And he's got it?"

"Yes."

"What does he mean by that?"

She lifted her shoulders.

"Are you going to let him keep it?" he asked.

"I don't let him."

There was a long pause.
"Am I to go and have it out with him?" he asked, his face flushed, his blue eyes going hard with opposition.

"No," she said, pale.

"Why?"

"No--I don't want to say anything about it."

He sat exasperated and nonplussed.
"You'll let him keep it, then?" he asked.

She sat silent and made no form of answer.

"What do you mean by it?" he said, dark with fury. And he started up.

"No!" she cried. "Ted!" And she caught hold of him, sharply detaining him.
It made him black with rage.

"Why?" he said.

Then something about her mouth was pitiful to him. He did not understand, but he felt she must have her reasons.

"Then I'm not stopping here," he said. "Are you coming with me?"

She rose mutely, and they went out of the room. Adams had not noticed.
In a few moments they were in the street.

"What the hell do you mean?" he said, in a black fury.

She went at his side, in silence, neutral.

"That great hog, an' all," he added.

Then they went a long time in silence through the frozen, deserted darkness of the town. She felt she could not go indoors. They were drawing near her house.

"I don't want to go home," she suddenly cried in distress and anguish. "I don't want to go home."

He looked at her.

"Why don't you?" he said.

"I don't want to go home," was all she could sob.

He heard somebody coming.

"Well, we can walk a bit further," he said.

She was silent again. They passed out of the town into the fields. He held her by the arm--they could not speak.

"What's a-matter?" he asked at length, puzzled.

She began to cry again.

At last he took her in his arms, to soothe her. She sobbed by herself, almost unaware of him.

"Tell me what's a-matter, Elsie," he said. "Tell me what's a-matter--my dear--tell me, then--"

He kissed her wet face, and caressed her. She made no response. He was puzzled and tender and miserable.

At length she became quiet. Then he kissed her, and she put her arms round him, and clung to him very tight, as if for fear and anguish. He held her in his arms, wondering.

"Ted!" she whispered, frantic. "Ted!"

"What, my love?" he answered, becoming also afraid.

"Be good to me," she cried. "Don't be cruel to me."

"No, my pet," he said, amazed and grieved. "Why?"

"Oh, be good to me," she sobbed.

And he held her very safe, and his heart was white-hot with love for her. His mind was amazed. He could only hold her against his chest that was white-hot with love and belief in her. So she was restored at last.

[downing]

Hello Janine! I am sorry for not posting lately, but I decided to have a break after this difficult school year and these difficult posts I will try to comment this part of the story so here it is.

I perceive Sam Adams like an evil spirit, even though this seems unfit in Lawrence's short stories. I'd like to exaggerate saying this, because he is stirring up the peace of the couple. L. uses the word ''antagonism'' in the following statement with the intention of describing the relationship between the two men:

And always there was present the other's antagonism.

She glanced repeatedly at her card, to see when she would dance again with Adams, half in desire, half in dread.

I find this phrase interesting. It seems that Elsie understands that she is provoking pain to Whiston, but at the same time temptention is strong. To some extent, she likes to dance with Adams. Lawrence does a great depiction here:

The time came for her to dance with Adams. Oh, the delicious closing of contact with him, of his limbs touching her limbs, his arm supporting her.

The stocking episode reveals Adams' brazeness.
The discussion between Whiston and Elsie seems very real and I like the part when he soothes her.

[Janine]

Downing, thanks and good post! I am now too tired out tonight to answer it or comment further on the story. I will try to do so tomorrow. Things on the homefront have been keeping me from threads. I will be back in full swing by next week.
One comment for now, Downing:
Yes, aren't the dance scenes exquisitely expressed? I think this aspect really stands out in this particular story. Lawrence describes the dance so wonderfully with great intensity of passion. His travel books have scenes of dances and one feels a certain euphoria in those scenes and a sense of being swept away by the rhythm and the music and the physical contact and sheer passion in dance.

Sorry again. J

[Janine]

Posting story text again and commenting/underlining keyword/phrases:

She was immutable. He sat feeling heavy and dulled with rage. He was not clear as to what he felt. He sat there unliving whilst she danced. And she, distracted, lost to herself between the opposing forces of the two men, drifted. Between the dances, Whiston kept near to her. She was scarcely conscious. She glanced repeatedly at her card, to see when she would dance again with Adams, half in desire, half in dread. Sometimes she met his steady, glaucous eye as she passed him in the dance. Sometimes she saw the steadiness of his flank as he danced. And it was always as if she rested on his arm, were borne along, upborne by him, away from herself. And always there was present the other's antagonism. She was divided.

Obviously, from the words I have indicated by underlining we get a keen sense that Elsie is torn between the two men - 'between the opposing forces of the two men' - 'she is divided' within herself. She wants to dance and be in the unconscious state of the dance but at the same time she longs for Whiston's attention. She says she is 'half in desire and half in dread' of Sam Adams. Now she is more conscious of Whiston but she is 'scarcely' so, still 'being borne along', 'upborne by him' (SA) but 'away from herself' (her true self, the self of her true reality).

The time came for her to dance with Adams. Oh, the delicious closing of contact with him, of his limbs touching her limbs, his arm supporting her. She seemed to resolve. Whiston had not made himself real to her. He was only a heavy place in her consciousness.

Interesting that at this point Whiston 'had not made himself real to her', so that she still exists in a 'dream-like' realm, feeling so close to Sam Adams in physicality. Interesting word to use - 'resolve'. I am not sure I entirely understand what Lawrence means here. Now Whiston is a 'heavy place in her consciousness' - does this indicate that reality to her is a heavy, weighty place to her?

But she breathed heavily, beginning to suffer from the closeness of strain. She was nervous. Adams also was constrained. A tightness, a tension was coming over them all. And he was exasperated, feeling something counteracting physical magnetism, feeling a will stronger with her than his own, intervening in what was becoming a vital necessity to him.

Curious - now the strain of being together physically takes it's toll. She is 'nervous' and uncomfortable. He is 'constrained', and 'exasperated'. 'Tightness' and 'tension' are 'coming over them all', so that things are shifting somewhat with the presense of Whiston so near. The woman's will becomes stronger here which is significant knowing Lawrence's views on woman. Because of this factor there is now much tension in the air and the dance to follow.

Elsie was [almost lost to her own control. As she went forward with him to take her place at the dance, she stooped for her pocket-handkerchief. The music sounded for quadrilles. Everybody was ready. Adams stood with his body near her, exerting his attraction over her. He was tense and fighting. She stooped for her pocket-handkerchief, and shook it as she rose. It shook out and fell from her hand. With agony, she saw she had taken a white stocking instead of a handkerchief. For a second it lay on the floor, a twist of white stocking. Then, in an instant, Adams picked it up, with a little, surprised laugh of triumph.

Tension builds and Adams is 'tense and fighting', even though he has resumed some physical closeness to Elsie. Now the moment of the stocking being mistaken for the hankerchief is completely significant because of the last line - he picks it up and rescues her in an instant - it is his 'suprised laugh of triumph', his triumphant moment over the will of Elsie, as Lawrence so perfectly expresses it.

"That'll do for me," he whispered--seeming to take possession of her. And he stuffed the stocking in his trousers pocket, and quickly offered her his handkerchief.

So here we further see his triumph and his trophy he has claimed, by stashing it away quickly in his pocket and giving her his in exchange. He is seeming to have possession of her with this one tiny act, a moment of opportunity for him. He has again overtaken her strong will - mastered her in this one small gesture.

The dance began. She felt weak and faint, as if her will were turned to water. A heavy sense of loss came over her. She could not help herself anymore. But it was peace.

Even thought now she is 'weak and faint' and her will is broken and seems to have 'turned to water' she is finally at 'peace' - the conflict has ended. No longer can she 'help herself'.

When the dance was over, Adams yielded her up. Whiston came to her.

Significant turning point - one man yields her up and the other arrives in time to come to her, rescue her from herself.

"What was it as you dropped?" Whiston asked.

"I thought it was my handkerchief--I'd taken a stocking by mistake," she said, detached and muted.

"And he's got it?"

"Yes."

"What does he mean by that?"

She lifted her shoulders.

"Are you going to let him keep it?" he asked.

"I don't let him."

There was a long pause.
"Am I to go and have it out with him?" he asked, his face flushed, his blue eyes going hard with opposition.

"No," she said, pale.

"Why?"

"No--I don't want to say anything about it."

He sat exasperated and nonplussed.
"You'll let him keep it, then?" he asked.

She sat silent and made no form of answer.

"What do you mean by it?" he said, dark with fury. And he started up.

"No!" she cried. "Ted!" And she caught hold of him, sharply detaining him.
It made him black with rage.

"Why?" he said.

Then something about her mouth was pitiful to him. He did not understand, but he felt she must have her reasons.

"Then I'm not stopping here," he said. "Are you coming with me?"

She rose mutely, and they went out of the room. Adams had not noticed.
In a few moments they were in the street.

"What the hell do you mean?" he said, in a black fury.

She went at his side, in silence, neutral.

"That great hog, an' all," he added.

Pretty self explanatory from the dialogue and the interchange. Whiston obviously wants her to get the stocking from Adams, but Elsie exerts her will over Whiston and refuses to. Finally he gives in, feeling she must have a good reason not to ask for it back. Even though he does not understand, he accepts it this, but he is in a 'black fury' about it. Finally seeing her mouth and her expression in which he sees something 'pitiful', he gives into her finally, or at least for now. They leave the dance to start for home.

Then they went a long time in silence through the frozen, deserted darkness of the town. She felt she could not go indoors. They were drawing near her house.

"I don't want to go home," she suddenly cried in distress and anguish. "I don't want to go home."

He looked at her.

"Why don't you?" he said.

"I don't want to go home," was all she could sob.

He heard somebody coming.

"Well, we can walk a bit further," he said.

She was silent again. They passed out of the town into the fields. He held her by the arm--they could not speak.

"What's a-matter?" he asked at length, puzzled.

She began to cry again.

At last he took her in his arms, to soothe her. She sobbed by herself, almost unaware of him.

"Tell me what's a-matter, Elsie," he said. "Tell me what's a-matter--my dear--tell me, then--"

He kissed her wet face, and caressed her. She made no response. He was puzzled and tender and miserable.

At length she became quiet. Then he kissed her, and she put her arms round him, and clung to him very tight, as if for fear and anguish. He held her in his arms, wondering.

"Ted!" she whispered, frantic. "Ted!"

"What, my love?" he answered, becoming also afraid.

"Be good to me," she cried. "Don't be cruel to me."

"No, my pet," he said, amazed and grieved. "Why?"

"Oh, be good to me," she sobbed.

And he held her very safe, and his heart was white-hot with love for her. His mind was amazed. He could only hold her against his chest that was white-hot with love and belief in her. So she was restored at last.

So many emotions going on here if you look at the words I underlined. The course of true love never runs smoothly - it is a definitely a give and take, a contest of wills, misunderstandings and understandings, highly charged emotional issues, perhpas a sense of forgiving in the end or as the last line states a sense of being 'restored at last'.