Любовник леди Чаттерлей

           Hadhesensedsomething?

           ’Thespringmakesmefeelqueer--IthoughtImightrestalittle,’shesaid.

           ’Justasyoulike.Notfeelingreallyunwell,areyou?’

           ’No!Onlyrathertired--withthespring.WillyouhaveMrsBoltontoplaysomethingwithyou?’

           ’No!IthinkI’lllistenin.’

           Sheheardthecurioussatisfactioninhisvoice.Shewentupstairstoherbedroom.Theresheheardtheloudspeakerbegintobellow,inanidioticallyvelveteen-genteelsortofvoice,somethingaboutaseriesofstreet-cries,theverycreamofgenteelaffectationimitatingoldcriers.Shepulledonheroldvioletcolouredmackintosh,andslippedoutofthehouseatthesidedoor.

           Thedrizzleofrainwaslikeaveilovertheworld,mysterious,hushed,notcold.Shegotverywarmasshehurriedacrossthepark.Shehadtoopenherlightwaterproof.

           Thewoodwassilent,stillandsecretintheeveningdrizzleofrain,fullofthemysteryofeggsandhalf-openbuds,halfunsheathedflowers.Inthedimnessofitalltreesglistenednakedanddarkasiftheyhadunclothedthemselves,andthegreenthingsonearthseemedtohumwithgreenness.

           Therewasstillnooneattheclearing.Thechickshadnearlyallgoneunderthemother-hens,onlyoneortwolastadventurousonesstilldibbedaboutinthedrynessunderthestrawroofshelter.Andtheyweredoubtfulofthemselves.

           So!Hestillhadnotbeen.Hewasstayingawayonpurpose.Orperhapssomethingwaswrong.Perhapssheshouldgotothecottageandsee.

           Butshewasborntowait.Sheopenedthehutwithherkey.