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- Дэвид Герберт Лоуренс
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- Любовник леди Чаттерлей
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- Стр. 109/388
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The
idea
of
a
new
concentrated
fuel
that
burnt
with
a
hard
slowness
at
a
fierce
heat
was
what
first
attracted
Clifford
.
There
must
be
some
sort
of
external
stimulus
of
the
burning
of
such
fuel
,
not
merely
air
supply
.
He
began
to
experiment
,
and
got
a
clever
young
fellow
,
who
had
proved
brilliant
in
chemistry
,
to
help
him
.
And
he
felt
triumphant
.
He
had
at
last
got
out
of
himself
.
He
had
fulfilled
his
life
-
long
secret
yearning
to
get
out
of
himself
.
Art
had
not
done
it
for
him
.
Art
had
only
made
it
worse
.
But
now
,
now
he
had
done
it
.
He
was
not
aware
how
much
Mrs
Bolton
was
behind
him
.
He
did
not
know
how
much
he
depended
on
her
.
But
for
all
that
,
it
was
evident
that
when
he
was
with
her
his
voice
dropped
to
an
easy
rhythm
of
intimacy
,
almost
a
trifle
vulgar
With
Connie
,
he
was
a
little
stiff
.
He
felt
he
owed
her
everything
,
and
he
showed
her
the
utmost
respect
and
consideration
,
so
long
as
she
gave
him
mere
outward
respect
.
But
it
was
obvious
he
had
a
secret
dread
of
her
.
The
new
Achilles
in
him
had
a
heel
,
and
in
this
heel
the
woman
,
the
woman
like
Connie
,
his
wife
,
could
lame
him
fatally
.
He
went
in
a
certain
half
-
subservient
dread
of
her
,
and
was
extremely
nice
to
her
.
But
his
voice
was
a
little
tense
when
he
spoke
to
her
,
and
he
began
to
be
silent
whenever
she
was
present
.
Only
when
he
was
alone
with
Mrs
Bolton
did
he
really
feel
a
lord
and
a
master
,
and
his
voice
ran
on
with
her
almost
as
easily
and
garrulously
as
her
own
could
run
.
And
he
let
her
shave
him
or
sponge
all
his
body
as
if
he
were
a
child
,
really
as
if
he
were
a
child
.
Connie
was
a
good
deal
alone
now
,
fewer
people
came
to
Wragby
.
Clifford
no
longer
wanted
them
.
He
had
turned
against
even
the
cronies
.
He
was
queer
.
He
preferred
the
radio
,
which
he
had
installed
at
some
expense
,
with
a
good
deal
of
success
at
last
.
He
could
sometimes
get
Madrid
or
Frankfurt
,
even
there
in
the
uneasy
Midlands
.
And
he
would
sit
alone
for
hours
listening
to
the
loudspeaker
bellowing
forth
.
It
amazed
and
stunned
Connie
.
But
there
he
would
sit
,
with
a
blank
entranced
expression
on
his
face
,
like
a
person
losing
his
mind
,
and
listen
,
or
seem
to
listen
,
to
the
unspeakable
thing
.
Was
he
really
listening
?
Or
was
it
a
sort
of
soporific
he
took
,
whilst
something
else
worked
on
underneath
in
him
?
Connie
did
now
know
.
She
fled
up
to
her
room
,
or
out
of
doors
to
the
wood
.
A
kind
of
terror
filled
her
sometimes
,
a
terror
of
the
incipient
insanity
of
the
whole
civilized
species
.
But
now
that
Clifford
was
drifting
off
to
this
other
weirdness
of
industrial
activity
,
becoming
almost
a
creature
,
with
a
hard
,
efficient
shell
of
an
exterior
and
a
pulpy
interior
,
one
of
the
amazing
crabs
and
lobsters
of
the
modern
,
industrial
and
financial
world
,
invertebrates
of
the
crustacean
order
,
with
shells
of
steel
,
like
machines
,
and
inner
bodies
of
soft
pulp
,
Connie
herself
was
really
completely
stranded
.
She
was
not
even
free
,
for
Clifford
must
have
her
there
.
He
seemed
to
have
a
nervous
terror
that
she
should
leave
him
.
The
curious
pulpy
part
of
him
,
the
emotional
and
humanly
-
individual
part
,
depended
on
her
with
terror
,
like
a
child
,
almost
like
an
idiot
.
She
must
be
there
,
there
at
Wragby
,
a
Lady
Chatterley
,
his
wife
.
