A curious thrill went over the younger woman.

Some strange, dark, convulsive power was in Hermione, fascinating and repelling.
'It is fatal to use the will like that,' cried Birkin harshly, 'disgusting.

Such a will is an obscenity.' Hermione looked at him for a long time, with her shadowed, heavy eyes.
Her face was soft and pale and thin, almost phosphorescent, her jaw was lean.
'I'm sure it isn't,' she said at length.

There always seemed an interval, a strange split between what she seemed to feel and experience, and what she actually said and thought.

She seemed to catch her thoughts at length from off the surface of a maelstrom of chaotic black emotions and reactions, and Birkin was always filled with repulsion, she caught so infallibly, her will never failed her.