Любовник леди Чаттерлей

           Butasamatteroffact,thoughevenConniedidnotknowit,downhillhalfamilebelowthe’hotel’wasoldStacksGate,withalittleoldcollieryandblackisholdbrickdwellings,andachapelortwoandashoportwoandalittlepubortwo.

           Butthatdidn’tcountanymore.Thevastplumesofsmokeandvapourrosefromthenewworksupabove,andthiswasnowStacksGate:nochapels,nopubs,evennoshops.Onlythegreatworks’,whicharethemodernOlympiawithtemplestoallthegods;thenthemodeldwellings:thenthehotel.Thehotelinactualitywasnothingbutaminers’pubthoughitlookedfirst-classy.

           EvensinceConnie’sarrivalatWragbythisnewplacehadarisenonthefaceoftheearth,andthemodeldwellingshadfilledwithriff-raffdriftinginfromanywhere,topoachClifford’srabbitsamongotheroccupations.

           Thecarranonalongtheuplands,seeingtherollingcountyspreadout.Thecounty!Ithadoncebeenaproudandlordlycounty.Infront,loomingagainandhangingonthebrowofthesky-line,wasthehugeandsplendidbulkofChadwickHall,morewindowthanwall,oneofthemostfamousElizabethanhouses.Nobleitstoodaloneaboveagreatpark,butoutofdate,passedover.Itwasstillkeptup,butasashowplace.’Lookhowourancestorslordedit!’

           Thatwasthepast.Thepresentlaybelow.Godaloneknowswherethefuturelies.Thecarwasalreadyturning,betweenlittleoldblackenedminers’cottages,todescendtoUthwaite.AndUthwaite,onadampday,wassendingupawholearrayofsmokeplumesandsteam,towhatevergodstherebe.