"No! Don't say it! Don't say it!" she pleaded. "I think I'm going to have one. Say you'll be pleased." She laid her hand on his.
"I'm pleased for you to be pleased," he said, "But for me it seems a ghastly treachery to the unborn creature."
"Ah no!" she said, shocked. "Then you can't ever really want me! You can't want me, if you feel that!"
Again he was silent, his face sullen. Outside there was only the threshing of the rain.
"It's not quite true!" she whispered. "It's not quite true! There's another truth." She felt he was bitter now partly because she was leaving him, deliberately going away to Venice. And this half pleased her.
She pulled open his clothing and uncovered his belly, and kissed his navel. Then she laid her cheek on his belly, and pressed her arm round his warm, silent loins. They were alone in the flood.
"Tell me you want a child, in hope!" she murmured, pressing her face against his belly. "Tell me you do!"
"Why!" he said at last: and she felt the curious quiver of changing consciousness and relaxation going through his body. "Why, I've thought sometimes if one but tried, here among th' colliers even! They workin' bad now, an' not earnin' much. If a man could say to em: Dunna think o' nowt but th' money. When it comes ter wants, we want but little. Let's not live for money."
She softly rubbed her cheek on his belly, and gathered his balls in her hand. The penis stirred softly, with strange life, but did not rise up. The rain beat bruisingly outside.
"Let's live for summat else. Let's not live ter make money, neither for us-selves nor for anybody else. Now we're forced to. We're forced to make a bit for us-selves, an' a fair lot for th' bosses. Let's stop it! Bit by bit, let's stop it. We needn't rant an' rave. Bit by bit, let's drop the whole industrial life, an' go back. The least little bit o' money 'll do. For everybody, me an' you, bosses an' masters, even th' king. The least little bit o' money 'll really do. Just make up your mind to it, an' you've got out o' th' mess." He paused, then went on:
"An' I'd tell em: Look! Look at Joe! He moves lovely! Look how he moves, alive and aware. He's beautiful! An' look at Jonah! He's clumsy, he's ugly, because he's niver willin' to rouse himself. I'd tell 'em: Look! look at yourselves! one shoulder
