Любовник леди Чаттерлей

           Hecouldhearthewinding-enginesatStacksGateturningdowntheseven-o’clockminers.Thepitworkedthreeshifts.

           Hewentdownagainintothedarknessandseclusionofthewood.Butheknewthattheseclusionofthewoodwasillusory.Theindustrialnoisesbrokethesolitude,thesharplights,thoughunseen,mockedit.Amancouldnolongerbeprivateandwithdrawn.Theworldallowsnohermits.Andnowhehadtakenthewoman,andbroughtonhimselfanewcycleofpainanddoom.Forheknewbyexperiencewhatitmeant.

           Itwasnotwoman’sfault,norevenlove’sfault,northefaultofsex.Thefaultlaythere,outthere,inthoseevilelectriclightsanddiabolicalrattlingsofengines.There,intheworldofthemechanicalgreedy,greedymechanismandmechanizedgreed,sparklingwithlightsandgushinghotmetalandroaringwithtraffic,therelaythevastevilthing,readytodestroywhateverdidnotconform.Soonitwoulddestroythewood,andthebluebellswouldspringnomore.Allvulnerablethingsmustperishundertherollingandrunningofiron.

           Hethoughtwithinfinitetendernessofthewoman.Poorforlornthing,shewasnicerthansheknew,andoh!somuchtooniceforthetoughlotshewasincontactwith.Poorthing,shetoohadsomeofthevulnerabilityofthewildhyacinths,shewasn’talltoughrubber-goodsandplatinum,likethemoderngirl.Andtheywoulddoherin!Assureaslife,theywoulddoherin,astheydoinallnaturallytenderlife.Tender!Somewhereshewastender,tenderwithatendernessofthegrowinghyacinths,somethingthathasgoneoutofthecelluloidwomenoftoday.