Любовник леди Чаттерлей

           ShefoundaletterfromMellors.

           Iwon’tcomeroundtoyourhotel,butI’llwaitforyououtsidetheGoldenCockinAdamStreetatseven.

           Therehestood,tallandslender,andsodifferent,inaformalsuitofthindarkcloth.Hehadanaturaldistinction,buthehadnotthecut-to-patternlookofherclass.Yet,shesawatonce,hecouldgoanywhere.Hehadanativebreedingwhichwasreallymuchnicerthanthecut-to-patternclassthing.

           ’Ah,thereyouare!Howwellyoulook!’

           ’Yes!Butnotyou.’

           Shelookedinhisfaceanxiously.Itwasthin,andthecheekbonesshowed.Buthiseyessmiledather,andshefeltathomewithhim.Thereitwas:suddenly,thetensionofkeepingupherappearancesfellfromher.Somethingflowedoutofhimphysically,thatmadeherfeelinwardlyateaseandhappy,athome.Withawoman’snowalertinstinctforhappiness,sheregistereditatonce.’I’mhappywhenhe’sthere!’NotallthesunshineofVenicehadgivenherthisinwardexpansionandwarmth.

           ’Wasithorridforyou?’sheaskedasshesatoppositehimattable.Hewastoothin;shesawitnow.Hishandlayassheknewit,withthecuriouslooseforgottennessofasleepinganimal.Shewantedsomuchtotakeitandkissit.Butshedidnotquitedare.

           ’Peoplearealwayshorrid,’hesaid.

           ’Anddidyoumindverymuch?’

           ’Iminded,asIalwaysshallmind.AndIknewIwasafooltomind.’

           ’Didyoufeellikeadogwithatincantiedtoitstail?Cliffordsaidyoufeltlikethat.’

           Helookedather.Itwascruelofheratthatmoment:forhispridehadsufferedbitterly.