Любовник леди Чаттерлей

           Stretchingwiththecuriousyawnofdesire,forhehadbeenaloneandapartfrommanorwomanforfouryears,heroseandtookhiscoatagain,andhisgun,loweredthelampandwentoutintothestarrynight,withthedog.DrivenbydesireandbydreadofthemalevolentThingoutside,hemadehisroundinthewood,slowly,softly.Helovedthedarknessandfoldedhimselfintoit.Itfittedtheturgidityofhisdesirewhich,inspiteofall,waslikeariches;thestirringrestlessnessofhispenis,thestirringfireinhisloins!Oh,ifonlytherewereothermentobewith,tofightthatsparklingelectricThingoutsidethere,topreservethetendernessoflife,thetendernessofwomen,andthenaturalrichesofdesire.Ifonlytherewerementofightsidebysidewith!Butthemenwerealloutsidethere,gloryingintheThing,triumphingorbeingtroddendownintherushofmechanizedgreedorofgreedymechanism.

           Constance,forherpart,hadhurriedacrossthepark,home,almostwithoutthinking.Asyetshehadnoafterthought.Shewouldbeintimefordinner.

           Shewasannoyedtofindthedoorsfastened,however,sothatshehadtoring.MrsBoltonopened.

           ’Whythereyouare,yourLadyship!Iwasbeginningtowonderifyou’dgonelost!’shesaidalittleroguishly.’SirCliffordhasn’taskedforyou,though;he’sgotMrLinleyinwithhim,talkingoversomething.Itlooksasifhe’dstaytodinner,doesn’tit,myLady?’

           ’Itdoesrather,’saidConnie.

           ’ShallIputdinnerbackaquarterofanhour?Thatwouldgiveyoutimetodressincomfort.’

           ’Perhapsyou’dbetter.