-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Дэвид Герберт Лоуренс
-
- Любовник леди Чаттерлей
-
- Стр. 121/388
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
He
could
hear
the
winding
-
engines
at
Stacks
Gate
turning
down
the
seven
-
o
’
clock
miners
.
The
pit
worked
three
shifts
.
He
went
down
again
into
the
darkness
and
seclusion
of
the
wood
.
But
he
knew
that
the
seclusion
of
the
wood
was
illusory
.
The
industrial
noises
broke
the
solitude
,
the
sharp
lights
,
though
unseen
,
mocked
it
.
A
man
could
no
longer
be
private
and
withdrawn
.
The
world
allows
no
hermits
.
And
now
he
had
taken
the
woman
,
and
brought
on
himself
a
new
cycle
of
pain
and
doom
.
For
he
knew
by
experience
what
it
meant
.
It
was
not
woman
’
s
fault
,
nor
even
love
’
s
fault
,
nor
the
fault
of
sex
.
The
fault
lay
there
,
out
there
,
in
those
evil
electric
lights
and
diabolical
rattlings
of
engines
.
There
,
in
the
world
of
the
mechanical
greedy
,
greedy
mechanism
and
mechanized
greed
,
sparkling
with
lights
and
gushing
hot
metal
and
roaring
with
traffic
,
there
lay
the
vast
evil
thing
,
ready
to
destroy
whatever
did
not
conform
.
Soon
it
would
destroy
the
wood
,
and
the
bluebells
would
spring
no
more
.
All
vulnerable
things
must
perish
under
the
rolling
and
running
of
iron
.
He
thought
with
infinite
tenderness
of
the
woman
.
Poor
forlorn
thing
,
she
was
nicer
than
she
knew
,
and
oh
!
so
much
too
nice
for
the
tough
lot
she
was
in
contact
with
.
Poor
thing
,
she
too
had
some
of
the
vulnerability
of
the
wild
hyacinths
,
she
wasn
’
t
all
tough
rubber
-
goods
and
platinum
,
like
the
modern
girl
.
And
they
would
do
her
in
!
As
sure
as
life
,
they
would
do
her
in
,
as
they
do
in
all
naturally
tender
life
.
Tender
!
Somewhere
she
was
tender
,
tender
with
a
tenderness
of
the
growing
hyacinths
,
something
that
has
gone
out
of
the
celluloid
women
of
today
.
But
he
would
protect
her
with
his
heart
for
a
little
while
.
For
a
little
while
,
before
the
insentient
iron
world
and
the
Mammon
of
mechanized
greed
did
them
both
in
,
her
as
well
as
him
.
He
went
home
with
his
gun
and
his
dog
,
to
the
dark
cottage
,
lit
the
lamp
,
started
the
fire
,
and
ate
his
supper
of
bread
and
cheese
,
young
onions
and
beer
.
He
was
alone
,
in
a
silence
he
loved
.
His
room
was
clean
and
tidy
,
but
rather
stark
.
Yet
the
fire
was
bright
,
the
hearth
white
,
the
petroleum
lamp
hung
bright
over
the
table
,
with
its
white
oil
-
cloth
.
He
tried
to
read
a
book
about
India
,
but
tonight
he
could
not
read
.
He
sat
by
the
fire
in
his
shirt
-
sleeves
,
not
smoking
,
but
with
a
mug
of
beer
in
reach
.
And
he
thought
about
Connie
.
To
tell
the
truth
,
he
was
sorry
for
what
had
happened
,
perhaps
most
for
her
sake
.
He
had
a
sense
of
foreboding
.
No
sense
of
wrong
or
sin
;
he
was
troubled
by
no
conscience
in
that
respect
.
He
knew
that
conscience
was
chiefly
fear
of
society
,
or
fear
of
oneself
.
He
was
not
afraid
of
himself
.
But
he
was
quite
consciously
afraid
of
society
,
which
he
knew
by
instinct
to
be
a
malevolent
,
partly
-
insane
beast
.
The
woman
!
If
she
could
be
there
with
him
,
and
there
were
nobody
else
in
the
world
!
The
desire
rose
again
,
his
penis
began
to
stir
like
a
live
bird
.
At
the
same
time
an
oppression
,
a
dread
of
exposing
himself
and
her
to
that
outside
Thing
that
sparkled
viciously
in
the
electric
lights
,
weighed
down
his
shoulders
.
She
,
poor
young
thing
,
was
just
a
young
female
creature
to
him
;
but
a
young
female
creature
whom
he
had
gone
into
and
whom
he
desired
again
.
Stretching
with
the
curious
yawn
of
desire
,
for
he
had
been
alone
and
apart
from
man
or
woman
for
four
years
,
he
rose
and
took
his
coat
again
,
and
his
gun
,
lowered
the
lamp
and
went
out
into
the
starry
night
,
with
the
dog
.
Driven
by
desire
and
by
dread
of
the
malevolent
Thing
outside
,
he
made
his
round
in
the
wood
,
slowly
,
softly
.
He
loved
the
darkness
and
folded
himself
into
it
.
It
fitted
the
turgidity
of
his
desire
which
,
in
spite
of
all
,
was
like
a
riches
;
the
stirring
restlessness
of
his
penis
,
the
stirring
fire
in
his
loins
!
Oh
,
if
only
there
were
other
men
to
be
with
,
to
fight
that
sparkling
electric
Thing
outside
there
,
to
preserve
the
tenderness
of
life
,
the
tenderness
of
women
,
and
the
natural
riches
of
desire
.
If
only
there
were
men
to
fight
side
by
side
with
!
But
the
men
were
all
outside
there
,
glorying
in
the
Thing
,
triumphing
or
being
trodden
down
in
the
rush
of
mechanized
greed
or
of
greedy
mechanism
.
Constance
,
for
her
part
,
had
hurried
across
the
park
,
home
,
almost
without
thinking
.
As
yet
she
had
no
afterthought
.
She
would
be
in
time
for
dinner
.
