Любовник леди Чаттерлей

           Aftersittinginastuporofbitterthoughtsuntilmidnight,hegotsuddenlyfromhischairandreachedforhiscoatandgun.

           ’Comeon,lass,’hesaidtothedog.’We’rebestoutside.’

           Itwasastarrynight,butmoonless.Hewentonaslow,scrupulous,soft-steppingandstealthyround.Theonlythinghehadtocontendwithwasthecollierssettingsnaresforrabbits,particularlytheStacksGatecolliers,ontheMarehayside.Butitwasbreedingseason,andevencolliersrespecteditalittle.Neverthelessthestealthybeatingoftheroundinsearchofpoacherssoothedhisnervesandtookhismindoffhisthoughts.

           Butwhenhehaddonehisslow,cautiousbeatingofhisbounds--itwasnearlyafive-milewalk--hewastired.Hewenttothetopoftheknollandlookedout.Therewasnosoundsavethenoise,thefaintshufflingnoisefromStacksGatecolliery,thatneverceasedworking:andtherewerehardlyanylights,savethebrilliantelectricrowsattheworks.Theworldlaydarklyandfumilysleeping.Itwashalfpasttwo.Buteveninitssleepitwasanuneasy,cruelworld,stirringwiththenoiseofatrainorsomegreatlorryontheroad,andflashingwithsomerosylightningflashfromthefurnaces.Itwasaworldofironandcoal,thecrueltyofironandthesmokeofcoal,andtheendless,endlessgreedthatdroveitall.Onlygreed,greedstirringinitssleep.

           Itwascold,andhewascoughing.Afinecolddraughtblewovertheknoll.Hethoughtofthewoman.Nowhewouldhavegivenallhehadorevermighthavetoholdherwarminhisarms,bothofthemwrappedinoneblanket,andsleep.