Любовник леди Чаттерлей

           Aman’sgottobe,togetthrough.Butthat’snotthepoint.Thepointis,whatsortofatimecanamangiveawoman?Canhegiveheradamngoodtime,orcan’the?Ifhecan’the’snorighttothewoman...’Hepausedandgazedatherwithhisfull,hazeleyes,almosthypnotic.’NowIconsider,’headded,’Icangiveawomanthedarndestgoodtimeshecanaskfor.IthinkIcanguaranteemyself.’

           ’Andwhatsortofagoodtime?’askedConnie,gazingonhimstillwithasortofamazement,thatlookedlikethrill;andunderneathfeelingnothingatall.

           ’Everysortofagoodtime,damnit,everysort!Dress,jewelsuptoapoint,anynightclubyoulike,knowanybodyyouwanttoknow,livethepace...travelandbesomebodywhereveryougo...Darnit,everysortofgoodtime.’

           Hespokeitalmostinabrilliancyoftriumph,andConnielookedathimasifdazzled,andreallyfeelingnothingatall.Hardlyeventhesurfaceofhermindwastickledattheglowingprospectsheofferedher.Hardlyevenhermostoutsideselfresponded,thatatanyothertimewouldhavebeenthrilled.Shejustgotnofeelingfromit,shecouldn’t’gooff’.Shejustsatandstaredandlookeddazzled,andfeltnothing,onlysomewhereshesmelttheextraordinarilyunpleasantsmellofthebitch-goddess.

           Micksatontenterhooks,leaningforwardinhischair,glaringatheralmosthysterically:andwhetherhewasmoreanxiousoutofvanityforhertosayYes!orwhetherhewasmorepanic-strickenforfearsheshouldsayYes!--whocantell?

           ’Ishouldhavetothinkaboutit,’shesaid.’Icouldn’tsaynow.