Любовник леди Чаттерлей

           Butwhichroomshewasin,thewomanwhoheldtheotherendofthefrailthreadwhichdrewhimsomercilessly,thathedidnotknow.

           Hewentalittlenearer,guninhand,andstoodmotionlessonthedrive,watchingthehouse.Perhapsevennowhecouldfindher,comeatherinsomeway.Thehousewasnotimpregnable:hewasascleverasburglarsare.Whynotcometoher?

           Hestoodmotionless,waiting,whilethedawnfaintlyandimperceptiblypaledbehindhim.Hesawthelightinthehousegoout.ButhedidnotseeMrsBoltoncometothewindowanddrawbacktheoldcurtainofdark-bluesilk,andstandherselfinthedarkroom,lookingoutonthehalf-darkoftheapproachingday,lookingforthelonged-fordawn,waiting,waitingforCliffordtobereallyreassuredthatitwasdaybreak.Forwhenhewassureofdaybreak,hewouldsleepalmostatonce.

           Shestoodblindwithsleepatthewindow,waiting.Andasshestood,shestarted,andalmostcriedout.Fortherewasamanoutthereonthedrive,ablackfigureinthetwilight.Shewokeupgreyly,andwatched,butwithoutmakingasoundtodisturbSirClifford.

           Thedaylightbegantorustleintotheworld,andthedarkfigureseemedtogosmallerandmoredefined.Shemadeoutthegunandgaitersandbaggyjacket--itwouldbeOliverMellors,thekeeper.