Любовник леди Чаттерлей

           Cliffordkeptthechairgoingtillhecametothebrowofthehill;Conniefollowedslowlybehind.Theoak-budswereopeningsoftandbrown.Everythingcametenderlyoutoftheoldhardness.Eventhesnaggycraggyoak-treesputoutthesoftestyoungleaves,spreadingthin,brownlittlewingslikeyoungbat-wingsinthelight.Whyhadmenneveranynewnessinthem,anyfreshnesstocomeforthwith!Stalemen!

           Cliffordstoppedthechairatthetopoftheriseandlookeddown.Thebluebellswashedbluelikeflood-wateroverthebroadriding,andlitupthedownhillwithawarmblueness.

           ’It’saveryfinecolourinitself,’saidClifford,’butuselessformakingapainting.’

           ’Quite!’saidConnie,completelyuninterested.

           ’ShallIventureasfarasthespring?’saidClifford.

           ’Willthechairgetupagain?’shesaid.

           ’We’lltry;nothingventure,nothingwin!’

           Andthechairbegantoadvanceslowly,joltinglydownthebeautifulbroadridingwashedoverwithblueencroachinghyacinths.Olastofallships,throughthehyacinthianshallows!Opinnaceonthelastwildwaters,sailinginthelastvoyageofourcivilization!Whither,Oweirdwheeledship,yourslowcoursesteering.Quietandcomplacent,Cliffordsatatthewheelofadventure:inhisoldblackhatandtweedjacket,motionlessandcautious.OCaptain,myCaptain,oursplendidtripisdone!Notyetthough!Downhill,inthewake,cameConstanceinhergreydress,watchingthechairjoltdownwards.

           Theypassedthenarrowtracktothehut.Thankheavenitwasnotwideenoughforthechair:hardlywideenoughforoneperson.