They crowded five of them into the taxi-cab. Halliday lurched in first,
and dropped into his seat against the other window. Then the Pussum
took her place, and Gerald sat next to her. They heard the young
Russian giving orders to the driver, then they were all seated in the
dark, crowded close together, Halliday groaning and leaning out of the
window. They felt the swift, muffled motion of the car.

The Pussum sat near to Gerald, and she seemed to become soft, subtly to
infuse herself into his bones, as if she were passing into him in a
black, electric flow. Her being suffused into his veins like a magnetic
darkness, and concentrated at the base of his spine like a fearful
source of power. Meanwhile her voice sounded out reedy and nonchalant,
as she talked indifferently with Birkin and with Maxim. Between her and
Gerald was this silence and this black, electric comprehension in the
darkness. Then she found his hand, and grasped it in her own firm,
small clasp. It was so utterly dark, and yet such a naked statement,
that rapid vibrations ran through his blood and over his brain, he was
no longer responsible. Still her voice rang on like a bell, tinged with
a tone of mockery. And as she swung her head, her fine mane of hair
just swept his face, and all his nerves were on fire, as with a subtle
friction of electricity. But the great centre of his force held steady,
a magnificent pride to him, at the base of his spine.

They arrived at a large block of buildings, went up in a lift, and
presently a door was being opened for them by a Hindu. Gerald looked in
surprise, wondering if he were a gentleman, one of the Hindus down from
Oxford, perhaps. But no, he was the man-servant.

'Make tea, Hasan,' said Halliday.