Любовник леди Чаттерлей

           Butwait!wait!NextwintershewouldgetCliffordtoLondon;thefollowingwintershewouldgethimabroadtotheSouthofFrance,Italy.Wait!Shewasinnohurryaboutthechild.Thatwasherownprivateaffair,andtheonepointonwhich,inherownqueer,femaleway,shewasserioustothebottomofhersoul.Shewasnotgoingtoriskanychancecomer,notshe!Onemighttakealoveralmostatanymoment,butamanwhoshouldbegetachildonone...wait!wait!it’saverydifferentmatter.--’GoyeintothestreetsandbywaysofJerusalem...’Itwasnotaquestionoflove;itwasaquestionofaman.Why,onemightevenratherhatehim,personally.Yetifhewastheman,whatwouldone’spersonalhatematter?Thisbusinessconcernedanotherpartofoneself.

           Ithadrainedasusual,andthepathsweretoosoddenforClifford’schair,butConniewouldgoout.Shewentoutaloneeverydaynow,mostlyinthewood,whereshewasreallyalone.Shesawnobodythere.

           Thisday,however,Cliffordwantedtosendamessagetothekeeper,andastheboywaslaidupwithinfluenza,somebodyalwaysseemedtohaveinfluenzaatWragby,Conniesaidshewouldcallatthecottage.

           Theairwassoftanddead,asifalltheworldwereslowlydying.Greyandclammyandsilent,evenfromtheshufflingofthecollieries,forthepitswereworkingshorttime,andtodaytheywerestoppedaltogether.Theendofallthings!

           Inthewoodallwasutterlyinertandmotionless,onlygreatdropsfellfromthebareboughs,withahollowlittlecrash.