Only I'm not interested myself,' said Birkin.
'What am I to do at all, then ?' came Gerald's voice.
'What you like.

What am I to do myself ?' In the silence Birkin could feel Gerald musing this fact.
'I'm blest if I know,' came the good-humoured answer.
'You see,' said Birkin, 'part of you wants the Pussum, and nothing but the Pussum, part of you wants the mines, the business, and nothing but the business--and there you are--all in bits--' 'And part of me wants something else,' said Gerald, in a queer, quiet, real voice.
'What ?' said Birkin, rather surprised.
'That's what I hoped you could tell me,' said Gerald.
There was a silence for some time.
'I can't tell you--I can't find my own way, let alone yours.

You might marry,' Birkin replied.
'Who--the Pussum ?' asked Gerald.
'Perhaps,' said Birkin.

And he rose and went to the window.
'That is your panacea,' said Gerald.

'But you haven't even tried it on yourself yet, and you are sick enough.' 'I am,' said Birkin.