'Good–bye,' said Gerald, taking the warm hand of his friend in a firm grasp. 'I shall come again. I miss you down at the mill.'
'I’ll be there in a few days,' said Birkin.
The eyes of the two men met again. Gerald’s, that were keen as a hawk’s, were suffused now with warm light and with unadmitted love, Birkin looked back as out of a darkness, unsounded and unknown, yet with a kind of warmth, that seemed to flow over Gerald’s brain like a fertile sleep.
'Good–bye then. There’s nothing I can do for you?'
'Nothing, thanks.'
Birkin watched the black–clothed form of the other man move out of the door, the bright head was gone, he turned over to sleep.
