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, 'you are invisible to me, if you don't force me to be visually aware of you. But I don't want to see you or hear you.' 'What did you ask me to tea for, then?' she mocked. But he would take no notice of her. He was talking to himself. 'I want to find you, where you don't know your own existence, the you that your common self denies utterly. But I don't want your good looks, and I don't want your womanly feelings, and I don't want your thoughts nor opinions nor your ideas--they are all bagatelles to me.' 'You are very conceited, Monsieur,' she mocked. 'How do you know what my womanly feelings are, or my thoughts or my ideas? You don't even know what I think of you now.' 'Nor do I care in the slightest.' 'I think you are very silly. I think you want to tell me you love me, and you go all this way round to do it.' 'All right,' he said, looking up with sudden exasperation. 'Now go away then, and leave me alone. I don't want any more of your meretricious persiflage.' 'Is it really persiflage?' she mocked, her face really relaxing into laughter. She interpreted it, that he had made a deep confession of love to her. But he was so absurd in his words, also. They were silent for many minutes, she was pleased and elated like a child. His concentration broke, he began to look at her simply and naturally. 'What I want is a strange conjunction with you--' he said quietly; 'not meeting and mingling--you are quite right--but an equilibrium, a pure balance of two single beings--as the stars balance each other.' She looked at him. He was very earnest, and earnestness was always rather ridiculous, commonplace, to her. It made her feel unfree and uncomfortable. Yet she liked him so much. But why drag in the stars. 'Isn't this rather sudden?' she mocked. He began to laugh. 'Best to read the terms of the contract, before we sign,' he said. A young grey cat that had been sleeping on the sofa jumped down and stretched, rising on its long legs, and arching its slim back. Then it sat considering for a moment, erect and kingly. And then, like a dart, it had shot out of the room, through the open window-doors, and into the garden. 'What's he after?' said Birkin, rising. The young cat trotted lordly down the path, waving his tail. He was an ordinary tabby with white paws, a slender young gentleman. A crouching, fluffy, brownish-grey cat was stealing up the side of the fence. The Mino walked statelily up to he
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