Любовник леди Чаттерлей
Chapter 8
Whatwasthegoodofdiscontentedpeoplewhofittedinnowhere?
InthespelloffineweatherClifford,too,decidedtogotothewood.Thewindwascold,butnotsotiresome,andthesunshinewaslikelifeitself,warmandfull.
’It’samazing,’saidConnie,’howdifferentonefeelswhenthere’sareallyfreshfineday.Usuallyonefeelstheveryairishalfdead.Peoplearekillingtheveryair.’
’Doyouthinkpeoplearedoingit?’heasked.
’Ido.Thesteamofsomuchboredom,anddiscontentandangeroutofallthepeople,justkillsthevitalityintheair.I’msureofit.’
’Perhapssomeconditionoftheatmospherelowersthevitalityofthepeople?’hesaid.
’No,it’smanthatpoisonstheuniverse,’sheasserted.
’Foulshisownnest,’remarkedClifford.
Thechairpuffedon.Inthehazelcopsecatkinswerehangingpalegold,andinsunnyplacesthewood-anemoneswerewideopen,asifexclaimingwiththejoyoflife,justasgoodasinpastdays,whenpeoplecouldexclaimalongwiththem.Theyhadafaintscentofapple-blossom.ConniegatheredafewforClifford.
Hetookthemandlookedatthemcuriously.
’Thoustillunravishedbrideofquietness,’hequoted.’ItseemstofitflowerssomuchbetterthanGreekvases.’
’Ravishedissuchahorridword!’shesaid.’It’sonlypeoplewhoravishthings.’
’Oh,Idon’tknow...snailsandthings,’hesaid.
’Evensnailsonlyeatthem,andbeesdon’travish.’
Shewasangrywithhim,turningeverythingintowords.VioletswereJuno’seyelids,andwindflowerswereonravishedbrides.
