He was going to pick her up roughly, carry her like a light bundle outside the room, outside the boat, flinging her away as though she were remorse.
But her physique, so opulent in its seductions, now inspired him with an unconquerable repugnance; he was afraid of its contact and wished to avoid its electric surprises....

Besides, he wasn't going to maltreat her at every meeting like a professional Apache who mixes love and blows.

He recalled with disgust his violence in Barcelona.
And as Freya instead of going away sank back on the divan, with a faintness that seemed to challenge his wrath, it was he who fled in order to bring the interview to an end.
He rushed into his stateroom, locking the door with a bang.

This flight brought her out of her inertia.

She wished to follow him with the leap of a young panther, but her hands collided with an obstacle that became impassable, while from within sounded the noise of keys and bolts.
She pounded the door desperately, injuring her fists with her fruitless efforts.
"Ulysses, open it!...