the machine works him, instead of he the machine. He enjoys the mechanical motion, in his own body.’

‘But is there nothing but work — mechanical work?’ said Gudrun.

‘Nothing but work!’ he repeated, leaning forward, his eyes two darknesses, with needle-points of light. ‘No, it is nothing but this, serving a machine, or enjoying the motion of a machine — motion, that is all. You have never worked for hunger, or you would know what god governs us.’

Gudrun quivered and flushed. For some reason she was almost in tears.

‘No, I have not worked for hunger,’ she replied, ‘but I have worked!’

‘Travaille — lavorato?’