Любовник леди Чаттерлей

           Shewentupstairsassoonaspossible,andwenttobedquiteearly.Butathalfpastnineshegotup,andwentoutsidetolisten.Therewasnosound.Sheslippedonadressing-gownandwentdownstairs.CliffordandMrsBoltonwereplayingcards,gambling.Theywouldprobablygoonuntilmidnight.

           Conniereturnedtoherroom,threwherpyjamasonthetossedbed,putonathintennis-dressandoverthatawoollenday-dress,putonrubbertennis-shoes,andthenalightcoat.Andshewasready.Ifshemetanybody,shewasjustgoingoutforafewminutes.Andinthemorning,whenshecameinagain,shewouldjusthavebeenforalittlewalkinthedew,asshefairlyoftendidbeforebreakfast.Fortherest,theonlydangerwasthatsomeoneshouldgointoherroomduringthenight.Butthatwasmostunlikely:notonechanceinahundred.

           Bettshadnotlockedup.Hefastenedupthehouseatteno’clock,andunfasteneditagainatseveninthemorning.Sheslippedoutsilentlyandunseen.Therewasahalf-moonshining,enoughtomakealittlelightintheworld,notenoughtoshowherupinherdark-greycoat.Shewalkedquicklyacrossthepark,notreallyinthethrilloftheassignation,butwithacertainangerandrebellionburninginherheart.Itwasnottherightsortofhearttotaketoalove-meeting.Butalaguerrecommealaguerre!