Любовник леди Чаттерлей

           AsforMichaelis,hewasperfect;exactlythesamemelancholic,attentive,aloofyoungfellowofthepreviousevening,millionsofdegreesremotefromhishosts,butlaconicallyplayinguptothemtotherequiredamount,andnevercomingforthtothemforamoment.Conniefelthemusthaveforgottenthemorning.Hehadnotforgotten.Butheknewwherehewas...inthesameoldplaceoutside,wherethebornoutsidersare.Hedidn’ttakethelove-makingaltogetherpersonally.Heknewitwouldnotchangehimfromanownerlessdog,whomeverybodybegrudgesitsgoldencollar,intoacomfortablesocietydog.

           Thefinalfactbeingthatattheverybottomofhissoulhewasanoutsider,andanti-social,andheacceptedthefactinwardly,nomatterhowBond-Streetyhewasontheoutside.Hisisolationwasanecessitytohim;justastheappearanceofconformityandmixing-inwiththesmartpeoplewasalsoanecessity.

           Butoccasionallove,asacomfortandsoothing,wasalsoagoodthing,andhewasnotungrateful.Onthecontrary,hewasburningly,poignantlygratefulforapieceofnatural,spontaneouskindness:almosttotears.Beneathhispale,immobile,disillusionedface,hischild’ssoulwassobbingwithgratitudetothewoman,andburningtocometoheragain;justashisoutcastsoulwasknowinghewouldkeepreallyclearofher.

           Hefoundanopportunitytosaytoher,astheywerelightingthecandlesinthehall:

           ’MayIcome?’

           ’I’llcometoyou,’shesaid.

           ’Oh,good!’

           Hewaitedforheralongtime...butshecame.

           Hewasthetremblingexcitedsortoflover,whosecrisissooncame,andwasfinished.