Любовник леди Чаттерлей

           ’Thatpneumoniatookalotoutofme,’hesaid.

           Nooneanswered.ConniecalculatedtheamountofstrengthitmusthavetakentoheaveupthatchairandthebulkyClifford:toomuch,fartoomuch!Ifithadn’tkilledhim!

           Herose,andagainpickeduphiscoat,slingingitthroughthehandleofthechair.

           ’Areyouready,then,SirClifford?’

           ’Whenyouare!’

           Hestoopedandtookoutthescotch,thenputhisweightagainstthechair.HewaspalerthanConniehadeverseenhim:andmoreabsent.Cliffordwasaheavyman:andthehillwassteep.Conniesteppedtothekeeper’sside.

           ’I’mgoingtopushtoo!’shesaid.

           Andshebegantoshovewithawoman’sturbulentenergyofanger.Thechairwentfaster.Cliffordlookedround.

           ’Isthatnecessary?’hesaid.

           ’Very!Doyouwanttokilltheman!Ifyou’dletthemotorworkwhileitwould--’

           Butshedidnotfinish.Shewasalreadypanting.Sheslackenedoffalittle,foritwassurprisinglyhardwork.

           ’Ay!slower!’saidthemanatherside,withafaintsmileofhiseyes.

           ’Areyousureyou’venothurtyourself?’shesaidfiercely.

           Heshookhishead.Shelookedathissmallish,short,alivehand,brownedbytheweather.Itwasthehandthatcaressedher.Shehadneverevenlookedatitbefore.Itseemedsostill,likehim,withacuriousinwardstillnessthatmadeherwanttoclutchit,asifshecouldnotreachit.Allhersoulsuddenlyswepttowardshim:hewassosilent,andoutofreach!Andhefelthislimbsrevive.Shovingwithhislefthand,helaidhisrightonherroundwhitewrist,softlyenfoldingherwrist,withacaress.