Birkin was too unreal;--clever, whimsical, wonderful, but not practical enough.

Gerald felt that his own understanding was much sounder and safer.

Birkin was delightful, a wonderful spirit, but after all, not to be taken seriously, not quite to be counted as a man among men.
'Why are you laid up again ?' he asked kindly, taking the sick man's hand.

It was always Gerald who was protective, offering the warm shelter of his physical strength.
'For my sins, I suppose,' Birkin said, smiling a little ironically.
'For your sins?
Yes, probably that is so.

You should sin less, and keep better in health ?' 'You'd better teach me.' He looked at Gerald with ironic eyes.
'How are things with you ?' asked Birkin.
'With me ?' Gerald looked at Birkin, saw he was serious, and a warm light came into his eyes.
'I don't know that they're any different.