1 Men can love women and talk to them.
2 She couldn't quite, quite love in hopelessness.
3 Even Clifford was temporarily in love with him.
4 And he, being hopeless, couldn't ever quite love at all.
5 With the English nothing could save him from being the eternal outsider, not even love.
6 The beautiful pure freedom of a woman was infinitely more wonderful than any sexual love.
7 There was a gorgeous talk on Sunday evening, when the conversation drifted again to love.
8 It was obvious in them too that love had gone through them: that is, the physical experience.
9 Both sisters had had their love experience by the time the war came, and they were hurried home.
10 But occasional love, as a comfort and soothing, was also a good thing, and he was not ungrateful.
11 Connie was in love with him, but she managed to sit with her embroidery and let the men talk, and not give herself away.
12 One was less in love with the boy afterwards, and a little inclined to hate him, as if he had trespassed on one's privacy and inner freedom.
13 Connie felt a sudden, strange leap of sympathy for him, a leap mingled with compassion, and tinged with repulsion, amounting almost to love.
14 The young men with whom they talked so passionately and sang so lustily and camped under the trees in such freedom wanted, of course, the love connexion.
15 She was stunned by this unexpected piece of brutality, at the moment when she was glowing with a sort of pleasure beyond words, and a sort of love for him.
16 Neither was ever in love with a young man unless he and she were verbally very near: that is unless they were profoundly interested, talking to one another.
17 But her love was somehow only an excursion from her marriage with Clifford; the long, slow habit of intimacy, formed through years of suffering and patience.
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