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- Дэвид Герберт Лоуренс
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- Любовник леди Чаттерлей
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- Стр. 124/388
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She
looked
at
him
.
Had
he
sensed
something
?
’
The
spring
makes
me
feel
queer
-
-
I
thought
I
might
rest
a
little
,
’
she
said
.
’
Just
as
you
like
.
Not
feeling
really
unwell
,
are
you
?
’
’
No
!
Only
rather
tired
-
-
with
the
spring
.
Will
you
have
Mrs
Bolton
to
play
something
with
you
?
’
’
No
!
I
think
I
’
ll
listen
in
.
’
She
heard
the
curious
satisfaction
in
his
voice
.
She
went
upstairs
to
her
bedroom
.
There
she
heard
the
loudspeaker
begin
to
bellow
,
in
an
idiotically
velveteen
-
genteel
sort
of
voice
,
something
about
a
series
of
street
-
cries
,
the
very
cream
of
genteel
affectation
imitating
old
criers
.
She
pulled
on
her
old
violet
coloured
mackintosh
,
and
slipped
out
of
the
house
at
the
side
door
.
The
drizzle
of
rain
was
like
a
veil
over
the
world
,
mysterious
,
hushed
,
not
cold
.
She
got
very
warm
as
she
hurried
across
the
park
.
She
had
to
open
her
light
waterproof
.
The
wood
was
silent
,
still
and
secret
in
the
evening
drizzle
of
rain
,
full
of
the
mystery
of
eggs
and
half
-
open
buds
,
half
unsheathed
flowers
.
In
the
dimness
of
it
all
trees
glistened
naked
and
dark
as
if
they
had
unclothed
themselves
,
and
the
green
things
on
earth
seemed
to
hum
with
greenness
.
There
was
still
no
one
at
the
clearing
.
The
chicks
had
nearly
all
gone
under
the
mother
-
hens
,
only
one
or
two
last
adventurous
ones
still
dibbed
about
in
the
dryness
under
the
straw
roof
shelter
.
And
they
were
doubtful
of
themselves
.
