Любовник леди Чаттерлей
Chapter 11
Itwasworktheybothliked.Connieespeciallyfeltadelightinputtingthesoftrootsofyoungplantsintoasoftblackpuddle,andcradlingthemdown.Onthisspringmorningshefeltaquiverinherwombtoo,asifthesunshinehadtoucheditandmadeithappy.
’Itismanyyearssinceyoulostyourhusband?’shesaidtoMrsBoltonasshetookupanotherlittleplantandlaiditinitshole.
’Twenty-three!’saidMrsBolton,asshecarefullyseparatedtheyoungcolumbinesintosingleplants.’Twenty-threeyearssincetheybroughthimhome.’
Connie’sheartgavealurch,attheterriblefinalityofit.’Broughthimhome!’
’Whydidhegetkilled,doyouthink?’sheasked.’Hewashappywithyou?’
Itwasawoman’squestiontoawoman.MrsBoltonputasideastrandofhairfromherface,withthebackofherhand.
’Idon’tknow,myLady!Hesortofwouldn’tgiveintothings:hewouldn’treallygowiththerest.Andthenhehatedduckinghisheadforanythingonearth.Asortofobstinacy,thatgetsitselfkilled.Youseehedidn’treallycare.Ilayitdowntothepit.Heoughtnevertohavebeendownpit.Buthisdadmadehimgodown,asalad;andthen,whenyou’reovertwenty,it’snotveryeasytocomeout.’
’Didhesayhehatedit?’
’Ohno!Never!Heneversaidhehatedanything.Hejustmadeafunnyface.Hewasoneofthosewhowouldn’ttakecare:likesomeofthefirstladsaswentoffsoblithetothewarandgotkilledrightaway.Hewasn’treallywezzle-brained.Buthewouldn’tcare.
