Moony

Mostly her heart was closed in this hidden, unconscious strain of
contemptuous ridicule. She thought she loved, she thought she was full
of love. This was her idea of herself. But the strange brightness of
her presence, a marvellous radiance of intrinsic vitality, was a
luminousness of supreme repudiation, nothing but repudiation.

Yet, at moments, she yielded and softened, she wanted pure love, only
pure love. This other, this state of constant unfailing repudiation,
was a strain, a suffering also. A terrible desire for pure love
overcame her again.

She went out one evening, numbed by this constant essential suffering.
Those who are timed for destruction must die now. The knowledge of this
reached a finality, a finishing in her. And the finality released her.
If fate would carry off in death or downfall all those who were timed
to go, why need she trouble, why repudiate any further. She was free of
it all, she could seek a new union elsewhere.

Ursula set off to Willey Green, towards the mill. She came to Willey
Water. It was almost full again, after its period of emptiness. Then
she turned off through the woods. The night had fallen, it was dark.
But she forgot to be afraid, she who had such great sources of fear.
Among the trees, far from any human beings, there was a sort of magic
peace. The more one could find a pure loneliness, with no taint of
people, the better one felt. She was in reality terrified, horrified in
her apprehension of people.