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- Дэвид Герберт Лоуренс
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- Любовник леди Чаттерлей
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- Стр. 104/388
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Yes
,
he
was
educating
her
.
And
he
enjoyed
it
,
it
gave
him
a
sense
of
power
.
And
she
was
thrilled
.
She
was
coming
bit
by
bit
into
possession
of
all
that
the
gentry
knew
,
all
that
made
them
upper
class
:
apart
from
the
money
.
That
thrilled
her
.
And
at
the
same
time
,
she
was
making
him
want
to
have
her
there
with
him
.
It
was
a
subtle
deep
flattery
to
him
,
her
genuine
thrill
.
To
Connie
,
Clifford
seemed
to
be
coming
out
in
his
true
colours
:
a
little
vulgar
,
a
little
common
,
and
uninspired
;
rather
fat
.
Ivy
Bolton
’
s
tricks
and
humble
bossiness
were
also
only
too
transparent
.
But
Connie
did
wonder
at
the
genuine
thrill
which
the
woman
got
out
of
Clifford
.
To
say
she
was
in
love
with
him
would
be
putting
it
wrongly
.
She
was
thrilled
by
her
contact
with
a
man
of
the
upper
class
,
this
titled
gentleman
,
this
author
who
could
write
books
and
poems
,
and
whose
photograph
appeared
in
the
illustrated
newspapers
.
She
was
thrilled
to
a
weird
passion
.
And
his
’
educating
’
her
roused
in
her
a
passion
of
excitement
and
response
much
deeper
than
any
love
affair
could
have
done
.
In
truth
,
the
very
fact
that
there
could
be
no
love
affair
left
her
free
to
thrill
to
her
very
marrow
with
this
other
passion
,
the
peculiar
passion
of
knowing
,
knowing
as
he
knew
.
There
was
no
mistake
that
the
woman
was
in
some
way
in
love
with
him
:
whatever
force
we
give
to
the
word
love
.
She
looked
so
handsome
and
so
young
,
and
her
grey
eyes
were
sometimes
marvellous
.
At
the
same
time
,
there
was
a
lurking
soft
satisfaction
about
her
,
even
of
triumph
,
and
private
satisfaction
.
Ugh
,
that
private
satisfaction
.
How
Connie
loathed
it
!
But
no
wonder
Clifford
was
caught
by
the
woman
!
She
absolutely
adored
him
,
in
her
persistent
fashion
,
and
put
herself
absolutely
at
his
service
,
for
him
to
use
as
he
liked
.
No
wonder
he
was
flattered
!
Connie
heard
long
conversations
going
on
between
the
two
.
Or
rather
,
it
was
mostly
Mrs
Bolton
talking
.
She
had
unloosed
to
him
the
stream
of
gossip
about
Tevershall
village
.
It
was
more
than
gossip
.
It
was
Mrs
Gaskell
and
George
Eliot
and
Miss
Mitford
all
rolled
in
one
,
with
a
great
deal
more
,
that
these
women
left
out
.
’
Once
started
,
Mrs
Bolton
was
better
than
any
book
,
about
the
lives
of
the
people
.
She
knew
them
all
so
intimately
,
and
had
such
a
peculiar
,
flamey
zest
in
all
their
affairs
,
it
was
wonderful
,
if
just
a
trifle
humiliating
to
listen
to
her
.
At
first
she
had
not
ventured
to
’
talk
Tevershall
’
,
as
she
called
it
,
to
Clifford
.
But
once
started
,
it
went
on
.
Clifford
was
listening
for
’
material
’
,
and
he
found
it
in
plenty
.
Connie
realized
that
his
so
-
called
genius
was
just
this
:
a
perspicuous
talent
for
personal
gossip
,
clever
and
apparently
detached
.
Mrs
Bolton
,
of
course
,
was
very
warm
when
she
’
talked
Tevershall
’
.
Carried
away
,
in
fact
.
And
it
was
marvellous
,
the
things
that
happened
and
that
she
knew
about
.
She
would
have
run
to
dozens
of
volumes
.
Connie
was
fascinated
,
listening
to
her
.
But
afterwards
always
a
little
ashamed
.
She
ought
not
to
listen
with
this
queer
rabid
curiosity
.
After
all
,
one
may
hear
the
most
private
affairs
of
other
people
,
but
only
in
a
spirit
of
respect
for
the
struggling
,
battered
thing
which
any
human
soul
is
,
and
in
a
spirit
of
fine
,
discriminative
sympathy
.
For
even
satire
is
a
form
of
sympathy
.
It
is
the
way
our
sympathy
flows
and
recoils
that
really
determines
our
lives
.
And
here
lies
the
vast
importance
of
the
novel
,
properly
handled
.
It
can
inform
and
lead
into
new
places
the
flow
of
our
sympathetic
consciousness
,
and
it
can
lead
our
sympathy
away
in
recoil
from
things
gone
dead
.
Therefore
,
the
novel
,
properly
handled
,
can
reveal
the
most
secret
places
of
life
:
for
it
is
in
the
passional
secret
places
of
life
,
above
all
,
that
the
tide
of
sensitive
awareness
needs
to
ebb
and
flow
,
cleansing
and
freshening
.
But
the
novel
,
like
gossip
,
can
also
excite
spurious
sympathies
and
recoils
,
mechanical
and
deadening
to
the
psyche
.
The
novel
can
glorify
the
most
corrupt
feelings
,
so
long
as
they
are
conventionally
’
pure
’
.
Then
the
novel
,
like
gossip
,
becomes
at
last
vicious
,
and
,
like
gossip
,
all
the
more
vicious
because
it
is
always
ostensibly
on
the
side
of
the
angels
.
Mrs
Bolton
’
s
gossip
was
always
on
the
side
of
the
angels
.
’
And
he
was
such
a
bad
fellow
,
and
she
was
such
a
nice
woman
.
’
Whereas
,
as
Connie
could
see
even
from
Mrs
Bolton
’
s
gossip
,
the
woman
had
been
merely
a
mealy
-
mouthed
sort
,
and
the
man
angrily
honest
.
But
angry
honesty
made
a
’
bad
man
’
of
him
,
and
mealy
-
mouthedness
made
a
’
nice
woman
’
of
her
,
in
the
vicious
,
conventional
channelling
of
sympathy
by
Mrs
Bolton
.
