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- Дэвид Герберт Лоуренс
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- Любовник леди Чаттерлей
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- Стр. 12/388
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Clifford
was
inviting
the
young
man
of
thirty
at
an
inauspicious
moment
in
that
young
man
’
s
career
.
Yet
Clifford
did
not
hesitate
.
Michaelis
had
the
ear
of
a
few
million
people
,
probably
;
and
,
being
a
hopeless
outsider
,
he
would
no
doubt
be
grateful
to
be
asked
down
to
Wragby
at
this
juncture
,
when
the
rest
of
the
smart
world
was
cutting
him
.
Being
grateful
,
he
would
no
doubt
do
Clifford
’
good
’
over
there
in
America
.
Kudos
!
A
man
gets
a
lot
of
kudos
,
whatever
that
may
be
,
by
being
talked
about
in
the
right
way
,
especially
’
over
there
’
.
Clifford
was
a
coming
man
;
and
it
was
remarkable
what
a
sound
publicity
instinct
he
had
.
In
the
end
Michaelis
did
him
most
nobly
in
a
play
,
and
Clifford
was
a
sort
of
popular
hero
.
Till
the
reaction
,
when
he
found
he
had
been
made
ridiculous
.
Connie
wondered
a
little
over
Clifford
’
s
blind
,
imperious
instinct
to
become
known
:
known
,
that
is
,
to
the
vast
amorphous
world
he
did
not
himself
know
,
and
of
which
he
was
uneasily
afraid
;
known
as
a
writer
,
as
a
first
-
class
modern
writer
.
Connie
was
aware
from
successful
,
old
,
hearty
,
bluffing
Sir
Malcolm
,
that
artists
did
advertise
themselves
,
and
exert
themselves
to
put
their
goods
over
.
But
her
father
used
channels
ready
-
made
,
used
by
all
the
other
R
.
A
.
s
who
sold
their
pictures
.
Whereas
Clifford
discovered
new
channels
of
publicity
,
all
kinds
.
He
had
all
kinds
of
people
at
Wragby
,
without
exactly
lowering
himself
.
But
,
determined
to
build
himself
a
monument
of
a
reputation
quickly
,
he
used
any
handy
rubble
in
the
making
.
Michaelis
arrived
duly
,
in
a
very
neat
car
,
with
a
chauffeur
and
a
manservant
.
He
was
absolutely
Bond
Street
!
But
at
sight
of
him
something
in
Clifford
’
s
county
soul
recoiled
.
He
wasn
’
t
exactly
.
.
.
not
exactly
.
.
.
in
fact
,
he
wasn
’
t
at
all
,
well
,
what
his
appearance
intended
to
imply
.
To
Clifford
this
was
final
and
enough
.
Yet
he
was
very
polite
to
the
man
;
to
the
amazing
success
in
him
.
The
bitch
-
goddess
,
as
she
is
called
,
of
Success
,
roamed
,
snarling
and
protective
,
round
the
half
-
humble
,
half
-
defiant
Michaelis
’
heels
,
and
intimidated
Clifford
completely
:
for
he
wanted
to
prostitute
himself
to
the
bitch
-
goddess
,
Success
also
,
if
only
she
would
have
him
.
Michaelis
obviously
wasn
’
t
an
Englishman
,
in
spite
of
all
the
tailors
,
hatters
,
barbers
,
booters
of
the
very
best
quarter
of
London
.
No
,
no
,
he
obviously
wasn
’
t
an
Englishman
:
the
wrong
sort
of
flattish
,
pale
face
and
bearing
;
and
the
wrong
sort
of
grievance
.
He
had
a
grudge
and
a
grievance
:
that
was
obvious
to
any
true
-
born
English
gentleman
,
who
would
scorn
to
let
such
a
thing
appear
blatant
in
his
own
demeanour
.
Poor
Michaelis
had
been
much
kicked
,
so
that
he
had
a
slightly
tail
-
between
-
the
-
legs
look
even
now
.
He
had
pushed
his
way
by
sheer
instinct
and
sheerer
effrontery
on
to
the
stage
and
to
the
front
of
it
,
with
his
plays
.
He
had
caught
the
public
.
And
he
had
thought
the
kicking
days
were
over
.
Alas
,
they
weren
’
t
.
.
.
They
never
would
be
.
For
he
,
in
a
sense
,
asked
to
be
kicked
.
He
pined
to
be
where
he
didn
’
t
belong
.
.
.
among
the
English
upper
classes
.
And
how
they
enjoyed
the
various
kicks
they
got
at
him
!
And
how
he
hated
them
!
Nevertheless
he
travelled
with
his
manservant
and
his
very
neat
car
,
this
Dublin
mongrel
.
There
was
something
about
him
that
Connie
liked
.
He
didn
’
t
put
on
airs
to
himself
,
he
had
no
illusions
about
himself
.
He
talked
to
Clifford
sensibly
,
briefly
,
practically
,
about
all
the
things
Clifford
wanted
to
know
.
He
didn
’
t
expand
or
let
himself
go
.
He
knew
he
had
been
asked
down
to
Wragby
to
be
made
use
of
,
and
like
an
old
,
shrewd
,
almost
indifferent
business
man
,
or
big
-
business
man
,
he
let
himself
be
asked
questions
,
and
he
answered
with
as
little
waste
of
feeling
as
possible
.
’
Money
!
’
he
said
.
’
Money
is
a
sort
of
instinct
.
It
’
s
a
sort
of
property
of
nature
in
a
man
to
make
money
.
It
’
s
nothing
you
do
.
It
’
s
no
trick
you
play
.
It
’
s
a
sort
of
permanent
accident
of
your
own
nature
;
once
you
start
,
you
make
money
,
and
you
go
on
;
up
to
a
point
,
I
suppose
.
’
’
But
you
’
ve
got
to
begin
,
’
said
Clifford
.
