Любовник леди Чаттерлей

           ’Nay,formeitwasgood,itwasgood.Wasitforyou?’

           ’Yes,formetoo,’sheanswered,alittleuntruthfully,forshehadnotbeenconsciousofmuch.

           Hekissedhersoftly,softly,withthekissesofwarmth.

           ’Ifonlythereweren’tsomanyotherpeopleintheworld,’hesaidlugubriously.

           Shelaughed.Theywereatthegatetothepark.Heopeneditforher.

           ’Iwon’tcomeanyfurther,’hesaid.

           ’No!’Andsheheldoutherhand,asiftoshakehands.Buthetookitinbothhis.

           ’ShallIcomeagain?’sheaskedwistfully.

           ’Yes!Yes!’

           Shelefthimandwentacrossthepark.

           Hestoodbackandwatchedhergoingintothedark,againstthepallorofthehorizon.Almostwithbitternesshewatchedhergo.Shehadconnectedhimupagain,whenhehadwantedtobealone.Shehadcosthimthatbitterprivacyofamanwhoatlastwantsonlytobealone.

           Heturnedintothedarkofthewood.Allwasstill,themoonhadset.Buthewasawareofthenoisesofthenight,theenginesatStacksGate,thetrafficonthemainroad.Slowlyheclimbedthedenudedknoll.Andfromthetophecouldseethecountry,brightrowsoflightsatStacksGate,smallerlightsatTevershallpit,theyellowlightsofTevershallandlightseverywhere,hereandthere,onthedarkcountry,withthedistantblushoffurnaces,faintandrosy,sincethenightwasclear,therosinessoftheoutpouringofwhite-hotmetal.Sharp,wickedelectriclightsatStacksGate!Anundefinablequickofevilinthem!Andalltheunease,theever-shiftingdreadoftheindustrialnightintheMidlands.