One day at this time Birkin was called to London. He was not very fixed
in his abode. He had rooms in Nottingham, because his work lay chiefly
in that town. But often he was in London, or in Oxford. He moved about
a great deal, his life seemed uncertain, without any definite rhythm,
any organic meaning.

On the platform of the railway station he saw Gerald Crich, reading a
newspaper, and evidently waiting for the train. Birkin stood some
distance off, among the people. It was against his instinct to approach
anybody.

From time to time, in a manner characteristic of him, Gerald lifted his
head and looked round. Even though he was reading the newspaper
closely, he must keep a watchful eye on his external surroundings.
There seemed to be a dual consciousness running in him. He was thinking
vigorously of something he read in the newspaper, and at the same time
his eye ran over the surfaces of the life round him, and he missed
nothing. Birkin, who was watching him, was irritated by his duality. He
noticed too, that Gerald seemed always to be at bay against everybody,
in spite of his queer, genial, social manner when roused.

Now Birkin started violently at seeing this genial look flash on to
Gerald's face, at seeing Gerald approaching with hand outstretched.

'Hallo, Rupert, where are you going?'

'London. So are you, I suppose.'