Любовник леди Чаттерлей
Chapter 11
Comingdownstairsinthemorning,shefoundthekeeper’sdogFlossiesittinginthecorridoroutsideClifford’sroom,andwhimperingveryfaintly.
’Why,Flossie!’shesaidsoftly.’Whatareyoudoinghere?’
AndshequietlyopenedClifford’sdoor.Cliffordwassittingupinbed,withthebed-tableandtypewriterpushedaside,andthekeeperwasstandingatattentionatthefootofthebed.Flossieranin.Withafaintgestureofheadandeyes,Mellorsorderedhertothedooragain,andsheslunkout.
’Oh,goodmorning,Clifford!’Conniesaid.’Ididn’tknowyouwerebusy.’Thenshelookedatthekeeper,sayinggoodmorningtohim.Hemurmuredhisreply,lookingatherasifvaguely.Butshefeltawhiffofpassiontouchher,fromhismerepresence.
’DidIinterruptyou,Clifford?I’msorry.’
’No,it’snothingofanyimportance.’
Sheslippedoutoftheroomagain,anduptotheblueboudoironthefirstfloor.Shesatinthewindow,andsawhimgodownthedrive,withhiscurious,silentmotion,effaced.Hehadanaturalsortofquietdistinction,analoofpride,andalsoacertainlookoffrailty.Ahireling!OneofClifford’shirelings!’Thefault,dearBrutus,isnotinourstars,butinourselves,thatweareunderlings.’
Washeanunderling?Washe?Whatdidhethinkofher?
Itwasasunnyday,andConniewasworkinginthegarden,andMrsBoltonwashelpingher.Forsomereason,thetwowomenhaddrawntogether,inoneoftheunaccountableflowsandebbsofsympathythatexistbetweenpeople.Theywerepeggingdowncarnations,andputtinginsmallplantsforthesummer.
