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- Дэвид Герберт Лоуренс
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- Любовник леди Чаттерлей
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- Стр. 13/388
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’
Oh
,
quite
!
You
’
ve
got
to
get
in
.
You
can
do
nothing
if
you
are
kept
outside
.
You
’
ve
got
to
beat
your
way
in
.
Once
you
’
ve
done
that
,
you
can
’
t
help
it
.
’
’
But
could
you
have
made
money
except
by
plays
?
’
asked
Clifford
.
’
Oh
,
probably
not
!
I
may
be
a
good
writer
or
I
may
be
a
bad
one
,
but
a
writer
and
a
writer
of
plays
is
what
I
am
,
and
I
’
ve
got
to
be
.
There
’
s
no
question
of
that
.
’
’
And
you
think
it
’
s
a
writer
of
popular
plays
that
you
’
ve
got
to
be
?
’
asked
Connie
.
’
There
,
exactly
!
’
he
said
,
turning
to
her
in
a
sudden
flash
.
’
There
’
s
nothing
in
it
!
There
’
s
nothing
in
popularity
.
There
’
s
nothing
in
the
public
,
if
it
comes
to
that
.
There
’
s
nothing
really
in
my
plays
to
make
them
popular
.
It
’
s
not
that
.
They
just
are
like
the
weather
.
.
.
the
sort
that
will
have
to
be
.
.
.
for
the
time
being
.
’
He
turned
his
slow
,
rather
full
eyes
,
that
had
been
drowned
in
such
fathomless
disillusion
,
on
Connie
,
and
she
trembled
a
little
.
He
seemed
so
old
.
.
.
endlessly
old
,
built
up
of
layers
of
disillusion
,
going
down
in
him
generation
after
generation
,
like
geological
strata
;
and
at
the
same
time
he
was
forlorn
like
a
child
.
An
outcast
,
in
a
certain
sense
;
but
with
the
desperate
bravery
of
his
rat
-
like
existence
.
’
At
least
it
’
s
wonderful
what
you
’
ve
done
at
your
time
of
life
,
’
said
Clifford
contemplatively
.
’
I
’
m
thirty
.
.
.
yes
,
I
’
m
thirty
!
’
said
Michaelis
,
sharply
and
suddenly
,
with
a
curious
laugh
;
hollow
,
triumphant
,
and
bitter
.
’
And
are
you
alone
?
’
asked
Connie
.
