Любовник леди Чаттерлей

           Thedrizzleofraindriftedgreylypastuponthedarkness.Itwasquitedark.

           ’Ahmunta’eth’lantern,’hesaid.’The’llbenob’dy.’

           Hewalkedjustbeforeherinthenarrowpath,swingingthehurricanelamplow,revealingthewetgrass,theblackshinytree-rootslikesnakes,wanflowers.Fortherest,allwasgreyrain-mistandcompletedarkness.

           ’Thamuncometothecottageonetime,’hesaid,’shallta?Wemightaswellbehungforasheepasforalamb.’

           Itpuzzledher,hisqueer,persistentwantingher,whentherewasnothingbetweenthem,whenheneverreallyspoketoher,andinspiteofherselfsheresentedthedialect.His’thamuncome’seemednotaddressedtoher,butsomecommonwoman.Sherecognizedthefoxgloveleavesoftheridingandknew,moreorless,wheretheywere.

           ’It’squarterpastseven,’hesaid,’you’lldoit.’Hehadchangedhisvoice,seemedtofeelherdistance.Astheyturnedthelastbendintheridingtowardsthehazelwallandthegate,heblewoutthelight.’We’llseefromhere,’besaid,takinghergentlybythearm.

           Butitwasdifficult,theearthundertheirfeetwasamystery,buthefelthiswaybytread:hewasusedtoit.Atthegatehegaveherhiselectrictorch.’It’sabitlighterinthepark,’hesaid;’buttakeitforfearyougetoffth’path.’

           Itwastrue,thereseemedaghost-glimmerofgreynessintheopenspaceofthepark.Hesuddenlydrewhertohimandwhippedhishandunderherdressagain,feelingherwarmbodywithhiswet,chillhand.