Любовник леди Чаттерлей

           Thechairreachedthebottomoftheslope,andswervedround,todisappear.AndConnieheardalowwhistlebehindher.Sheglancedsharplyround:thekeeperwasstridingdownhilltowardsher,hisdogkeepingbehindhim.

           ’IsSirCliffordgoingtothecottage?’heasked,lookingintohereyes.

           ’No,onlytothewell.’

           ’Ah!Good!ThenIcankeepoutofsight.ButIshallseeyoutonight.Ishallwaitforyouatthepark-gateaboutten.’

           Helookedagaindirectintohereyes.

           ’Yes,’shefaltered.

           TheyheardthePapp!Papp!ofClifford’shorn,tootingforConnie.She’Coo-eed!’inreply.Thekeeper’sfaceflickeredwithalittlegrimace,andwithhishandhesoftlybrushedherbreastupwards,fromunderneath.Shelookedathim,frightened,andstartedrunningdownthehill,callingCoo-ee!againtoClifford.Themanabovewatchedher,thenturned,grinningfaintly,backintohispath.

           ShefoundCliffordslowlymountingtothespring,whichwashalfwayuptheslopeofthedarklarch-wood.Hewastherebythetimeshecaughthimup.

           ’Shedidthatallright,’hesaid,referringtothechair.

           Connielookedatthegreatgreyleavesofburdockthatgrewoutghostlyfromtheedgeofthelarch-wood.ThepeoplecallitRobinHood’sRhubarb.Howsilentandgloomyitseemedbythewell!Yetthewaterbubbledsobright,wonderful!Andtherewerebitsofeye-brightandstrongbluebugle...Andthere,underthebank,theyellowearthwasmoving.Amole!Itemerged,rowingitspinkhands,andwavingitsblindgimletofaface,withthetinypinknose-tipuplifted.