Sons and Lovers - Daimon Club

"You will meet me at the Fountain at two o'clock," he said.
"I can't be there till half-past."
"Yes!" he said.
She saw his dark, mad eyes.
"I will try at a quarter past."
And he had to be content. He went and got some dinner.
All the time he was still under chloroform, and every minute
was stretched out indefinitely. He walked miles of streets.
Then he thought he would be late at the meeting-place. He was at
the Fountain at five past two. The torture of the next quarter
of an hour was refined beyond expression. It was the anguish
of combining the living self with the shell. Then he saw her.
She came! And he was there.
"You are late," he said.
"Only five minutes," she answered.
"I'd never have done it to you," he laughed.
She was in a dark blue costume. He looked at her beautiful figure.
"You want some flowers," he said, going to the nearest florist's.
She followed him in silence. He bought her a bunch of scarlet,
brick-red carnations. She put them in her coat, flushing.
"That's a fine colour!" he said.
"I'd rather have had something softer," she said.
He laughed.
"Do you feel like a blot of vermilion walking down the street?"
he said.
She hung her head, afraid of the people they met.
He looked sideways at her as they walked. There was a wonderful
close down on her face near the ear that he wanted to touch.