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- Дэвид Герберт Лоуренс
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- Любовник леди Чаттерлей
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- Стр. 14/388
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’
How
do
you
mean
?
Do
I
live
alone
?
I
’
ve
got
my
servant
.
He
’
s
a
Greek
,
so
he
says
,
and
quite
incompetent
.
But
I
keep
him
.
And
I
’
m
going
to
marry
.
Oh
,
yes
,
I
must
marry
.
’
’
It
sounds
like
going
to
have
your
tonsils
cut
,
’
laughed
Connie
.
’
Will
it
be
an
effort
?
’
He
looked
at
her
admiringly
.
’
Well
,
Lady
Chatterley
,
somehow
it
will
!
I
find
.
.
.
excuse
me
.
.
.
I
find
I
can
’
t
marry
an
Englishwoman
,
not
even
an
Irishwoman
.
.
.
’
’
Try
an
American
,
’
said
Clifford
.
’
Oh
,
American
!
’
He
laughed
a
hollow
laugh
.
’
No
,
I
’
ve
asked
my
man
if
he
will
find
me
a
Turk
or
something
.
.
.
something
nearer
to
the
Oriental
.
’
Connie
really
wondered
at
this
queer
,
melancholy
specimen
of
extraordinary
success
;
it
was
said
he
had
an
income
of
fifty
thousand
dollars
from
America
alone
.
Sometimes
he
was
handsome
:
sometimes
as
he
looked
sideways
,
downwards
,
and
the
light
fell
on
him
,
he
had
the
silent
,
enduring
beauty
of
a
carved
ivory
Negro
mask
,
with
his
rather
full
eyes
,
and
the
strong
queerly
-
arched
brows
,
the
immobile
,
compressed
mouth
;
that
momentary
but
revealed
immobility
,
an
immobility
,
a
timelessness
which
the
Buddha
aims
at
,
and
which
Negroes
express
sometimes
without
ever
aiming
at
it
;
something
old
,
old
,
and
acquiescent
in
the
race
!
Aeons
of
acquiescence
in
race
destiny
,
instead
of
our
individual
resistance
.
And
then
a
swimming
through
,
like
rats
in
a
dark
river
.
Connie
felt
a
sudden
,
strange
leap
of
sympathy
for
him
,
a
leap
mingled
with
compassion
,
and
tinged
with
repulsion
,
amounting
almost
to
love
.
The
outsider
!
The
outsider
!
And
they
called
him
a
bounder
!
How
much
more
bounderish
and
assertive
Clifford
looked
!
How
much
stupider
!
Michaelis
knew
at
once
he
had
made
an
impression
on
her
.
He
turned
his
full
,
hazel
,
slightly
prominent
eyes
on
her
in
a
look
of
pure
detachment
.
He
was
estimating
her
,
and
the
extent
of
the
impression
he
had
made
.
With
the
English
nothing
could
save
him
from
being
the
eternal
outsider
,
not
even
love
.
Yet
women
sometimes
fell
for
him
.
.
.
Englishwomen
too
.
He
knew
just
where
he
was
with
Clifford
.
They
were
two
alien
dogs
which
would
have
liked
to
snarl
at
one
another
,
but
which
smiled
instead
,
perforce
.
But
with
the
woman
he
was
not
quite
so
sure
.
Breakfast
was
served
in
the
bedrooms
;
Clifford
never
appeared
before
lunch
,
and
the
dining
-
room
was
a
little
dreary
.
After
coffee
Michaelis
,
restless
and
ill
-
sitting
soul
,
wondered
what
he
should
do
.
It
was
a
fine
November
day
.
.
.
fine
for
Wragby
.
He
looked
over
the
melancholy
park
.
My
God
!
What
a
place
!
