Любовник леди Чаттерлей

           ’Iwouldneverhavebelieveditofherladyship,Iwouldn’t!’shewept,suddenlysummoningupallheroldgriefandsenseofwoe,andweepingthetearsofherownbitterchagrin.Onceshestarted,herweepingwasgenuineenough,forshehadhadsomethingtoweepfor.

           CliffordthoughtofthewayhehadbeenbetrayedbythewomanConnie,andinacontagionofgrief,tearsfilledhiseyesandbegantorundownhischeeks.Hewasweepingforhimself.MrsBolton,assoonasshesawthetearsrunningoverhisblankface,hastilywipedherownwetcheeksonherlittlehandkerchief,andleanedtowardshim.

           ’Now,don’tyoufret,SirClifford!’shesaid,inaluxuryofemotion.’Now,don’tyoufret,don’t,you’llonlydoyourselfaninjury!’

           Hisbodyshiveredsuddenlyinanindrawnbreathofsilentsobbing,andthetearsranquickerdownhisface.Shelaidherhandonhisarm,andherowntearsfellagain.Againtheshiverwentthroughhim,likeaconvulsion,andshelaidherarmroundhisshoulder.’There,there!There,there!Don’tyoufret,then,don’tyou!Don’tyoufret!’shemoanedtohim,whileherowntearsfell.Andshedrewhimtoher,andheldherarmsroundhisgreatshoulders,whilehelaidhisfaceonherbosomandsobbed,shakingandhulkinghishugeshoulders,whilstshesoftlystrokedhisdusky-blondhairandsaid:’There!There!There!Therethen!Therethen!Neveryoumind!Neveryoumind,then!’

           Andheputhisarmsroundherandclungtoherlikeachild,wettingthebibofherstarchedwhiteapron,andthebosomofherpale-bluecottondress,withhistears.