smash the machine。 Her soul's action should be the smashing of
the great machine。 If she could destroy the colliery； and make
all the men of Wiggiston out of work； she would do it。 Let them
starve and grub in the earth for roots； rather than serve such a
Moloch as this。
She hated her Uncle Tom； she hated Winifred Inger。 They went
down to the summer…house for tea。 It was a pleasant place among
a few trees； at the end of a tiny garden； on the edge of a
field。 Her Uncle Tom and Winifred seemed to jeer at her； to
cheapen her。 She was miserable and desolate。 But she would never
give way。
Her coldness for Winifred should never cease。 She knew it was
over between them。 She saw gross； ugly movements in her
mistress； she saw a clayey； inert； unquickened flesh； that
reminded her of the great prehistoric lizards。 One day her Uncle
Tom came in out of the broiling sunshine heated from walking。
Then the perspiration stood out upon his head and brow； his hand
was wet and hot and suffocating in its clasp。 He too had
something marshy about him……the succulent moistness and
turgidity； and the same brackish； nauseating effect of a marsh；
where life and decaying are one。
He was repellent to her； who was so dry and fine in her fire。
Her very bones seemed to bid him keep his distance from her。
It was in these weeks that Ursula grew up。 She stayed two
weeks at Wiggiston； and she hated it。 All was grey； dry ash；
cold and dead and ugly。 But she stayed。 She stayed also to get
rid of Winifred。 The girl's hatred and her sense of
repulsiveness in her mistress and in her uncle seemed to throw
the other two together。 They drew together as if against
her。
In hardness and bitterness of soul； Ursula knew that Winifred
was bee her uncle's lover。 She was glad。 She had loved them
both。 Now she wanted to be rid of them both。 Their marshy；
bitter…sweet corruption came sick and unwholesome in her
nostrils。 Anything； to get out of the foetid air。 She would
leave them both for ever； leave for ever their strange； soft；
half…corrupt element。 Anything to get away。
One night Winifred came all burning into Ursula's bed； and
put her arms round the girl； holding her to herself in spite of
unwillingness； and said；
〃Dear； my dear……shall I marry Mr。 Brangwen……shall
I？〃
The clinging； heavy； muddy question weighed on Ursula
intolerably。
〃Has he asked you？〃 she said； using all her might of hard
resistance。
〃He's asked me；〃 said Winifred。 〃Do you want me to marry him；
Ursula？〃
〃Yes；〃 said Ursula。
The arms tightened more on her。
〃I knew you did； my sweet……and I will marry him。 You're
fond of him； aren't you？〃
〃I've been awfully fond of him……ever since I was
a child。〃
〃I know……I know。 I can see what you like in him。 He is a
man by himself； he has something apart from the rest。〃
〃Yes；〃 said Ursula。
〃But he's not like you； my dear……ha； he's not as good as
you。 There's something even objectionable in him……his thick
thighs……〃
Ursula was silent。
〃But I'll marry him； my dear……it will be best。 Now say
you love me。〃
A sort of profession was extorted out of the girl。
Nevertheless her mistress went away sighing； to weep in her own
chamber。
In two days' time Ursula left Wiggiston。 Miss Inger went to
Nottingham。 There was an engagement between her and Tom
Brangwen； which the uncle seemed to vaunt as if it were an
assurance of his validity。
Brangwen and Winifred Inger continued engaged for another
term。 Then they married。 Brangwen had reached the age when he
wanted children。 He wanted children。 Neither marriage nor the
domestic establishment meant anything to him。 He wanted to
propagate himself。 He knew what he was doing。 He had the
instinct of a growing inertia； of a thing that chooses its place
of rest in which to lapse into apathy； plete； profound
indifference。 He would let the machinery carry him； husband；
father； pit…manager； warm clay lifted through the recurrent
action of day after day by the great machine from which it
derived its motion。 As for Winifred； she was an educated woman；
and of the same sort as himself。 She would make a good
panion。 She was his mate。
CHAPTER XIII
THE MAN'S WORLD
Ursula came back to Cossethay to fight with her mother。 Her
schooldays were over。 She had passed the matriculation
examination。 Now she came home to face that empty period between
school and possible marriage。
At first she thought it would be just like holidays all the
time； she would feel just free。 Her soul was in chaos； blinded
suffering； maimed。 She had no will left to think about herself。
For a time she must just lapse。
But very shortly she found herself up against her mother。 Her
mother had； at this time； the power to irritate and madden the
girl continuously。 There were already seven children； yet Mrs。
Brangwen was again with child； the ninth she had borne。 One had
died of diphtheria in infancy。
Even this fact of her mother's pregnancy enraged the eldest
girl。 Mrs。 Brangwen was so placent； so utterly fulfilled in
her breeding。 She would not have the existence at all of
anything but the immediate； physical； mon things。 Ursula
inflamed in soul； was suffering all the anguish of youth's
reaching for some unknown ordeal； that it can't grasp； can't
even distinguish or conceive。 Maddened； she was fighting all the
darkness she was up against。 And part of this darkness was her
mother。 To limit； as her mother did； everything to the ring of
physical considerations； and placently to reject the reality
of anything else； was horrible。 Not a thing did Mrs。 Brangwen
care about； but the children； the house； and a little local
gossip。 And she would not be touched； she would let
nothing else live near her。 She went about； big with child；
slovenly； easy； having a certain lax dignity； taking her own
time； pleasing herself； always； always doing things for the
children； and feeling that she thereby fulfilled the whole of
womanhood。
This long trance of placent child…bearing had kept her
young and undeveloped。 She was scarcely a day older than when
Gudrun was born。 All these years nothing had happened save the
ing of the children； nothing had mattered but the bodies of
her babies。 As her children came into consciousness； as they
began to suffer their own fulfilment； she cast them off。 But she
remained dominant in the house。 Brangwen continued in a kind of
rich drowse of physical heat； in connection with his wife。 They
were neither of them quite personal； quite defined as
individuals； so much were they pervaded by the physical heat of
breeding and rearing their young。
How Ursula resented it； how she fought against the close；
physical； limited life of herded domesticity！ Calm； placid；
unshakeable as ever； Mrs。 Brangwen went about in her dominance
of physical maternity。
There were battles。 Ursula would fight for things that
mattered to her。 She would have the children less rude and
tyrannical； she would have a place in the house。 But her
mother pulled her down； pulled her down。 With all the cunning
instinct of a breeding animal； Mrs。 Brangwen ridiculed and held
cheap Ursula's passions； her ideas； her pronunciations。 Ursula
would try to insist； in her own home； on the right of women to
take equal place with men in the field of action and work。
〃Ay；〃 said the mother； 〃there's a good crop of stockings
lying ripe for mending。 Let that be your field of action。〃
Ursula disliked mending stockings； and this retort maddened
her。 She hated her mother bitterly。 After a few weeks of
enforced domestic life； she had had enough of her home。 The
monness； the triviality； the immediate meaninglessness of it
all drove her to frenzy。 She talked and stormed ideas； she
corrected and nagged at the children； she turned her back in
silent contempt on her breeding mother； who treated her with
supercilious indifference； as if she were a pretentious child
not to be taken seriously。
Brangwen was sometimes dragged into the trouble。 He loved
Ursula； therefore he always had a sense of shame； almost of
betrayal； when he turned on her。 So he turned fiercely and
scathingly； and with a wholesale brutality that made Ursula go
white； mute； and numb。 Her feelings seemed to be being
deadened in her； her temper hard and cold。
Brangwen himself was in one of his states or flux。 After all
these years； he began to see a loophole of freedom。 For twenty
years he had gone on at this office as a draughtsman； doing work
in which he had no interest； because it seemed his allotted
work。 The growing up of his daughters； their developing
rejection of old forms set him also free。
He was a man of ceaseless activity。 Blindly； like a mole； he
pushed his way out of the earth that covered him； working always
away from the physical element in which his life was captured。
Slowly； blindly； gropingly； with what initiative was left to
him； he made his way towards individual expression and
individual form。
At last； after twenty years； he came back to his woodcarving；
almost to the point where he had left off his Adam and Eve
panel； when he was courting。 But now he had knowledge and skill
without vision。 He saw the puerility of his young conceptions；
he saw