Любовник леди Чаттерлей
Chapter 8
WhenshegothomeCliffordaskedher:
’Wheredidyougo?’
’Rightacrossthewood!Look,aren’tthelittledaffodilsadorable?Tothinktheyshouldcomeoutoftheearth!’
’Justasmuchoutofairandsunshine,’hesaid.
’Butmodelledintheearth,’sheretorted,withapromptcontradiction,thatsurprisedheralittle.
Thenextafternoonshewenttothewoodagain.ShefollowedthebroadridingthatswervedroundandupthroughthelarchestoaspringcalledJohn’sWell.Itwascoldonthishillside,andnotaflowerinthedarknessoflarches.Buttheicylittlespringsoftlypressedupwardsfromitstinywell-bedofpure,reddish-whitepebbles.Howicyandclearitwas!Brilliant!Thenewkeeperhadnodoubtputinfreshpebbles.Sheheardthefainttinkleofwater,asthetinyoverflowtrickledoveranddownhill.Evenabovethehissingboomofthelarchwood,thatspreaditsbristling,leafless,wolfishdarknessonthedown-slope,sheheardthetinkleasoftinywater-bells.
Thisplacewasalittlesinister,cold,damp.Yetthewellmusthavebeenadrinking-placeforhundredsofyears.Nownomore.Itstinyclearedspacewaslushandcoldanddismal.
Sheroseandwentslowlytowardshome.Asshewentsheheardafainttappingawayontheright,andstoodstilltolisten.Wasithammering,orawoodpecker?Itwassurelyhammering.
Shewalkedon,listening.Andthenshenoticedanarrowtrackbetweenyoungfir-trees,atrackthatseemedtoleadnowhere.Butshefeltithadbeenused.Sheturneddownitadventurously,betweenthethickyoungfirs,whichgavewaysoontotheoldoakwood.
