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- Дэвид Герберт Лоуренс
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- Любовник леди Чаттерлей
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- Стр. 144/388
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’
If
I
had
a
child
!
’
she
thought
to
herself
;
’
if
I
had
him
inside
me
as
a
child
!
’
-
-
and
her
limbs
turned
molten
at
the
thought
,
and
she
realized
the
immense
difference
between
having
a
child
to
oneself
and
having
a
child
to
a
man
whom
one
’
s
bowels
yearned
towards
.
The
former
seemed
in
a
sense
ordinary
:
but
to
have
a
child
to
a
man
whom
one
adored
in
one
’
s
bowels
and
one
’
s
womb
,
it
made
her
feel
she
was
very
different
from
her
old
self
and
as
if
she
was
sinking
deep
,
deep
to
the
centre
of
all
womanhood
and
the
sleep
of
creation
.
It
was
not
the
passion
that
was
new
to
her
,
it
was
the
yearning
adoration
.
She
knew
she
had
always
feared
it
,
for
it
left
her
helpless
;
she
feared
it
still
,
lest
if
she
adored
him
too
much
,
then
she
would
lose
herself
become
effaced
,
and
she
did
not
want
to
be
effaced
,
a
slave
,
like
a
savage
woman
.
She
must
not
become
a
slave
.
She
feared
her
adoration
,
yet
she
would
not
at
once
fight
against
it
.
She
knew
she
could
fight
it
.
She
had
a
devil
of
self
-
will
in
her
breast
that
could
have
fought
the
full
soft
heaving
adoration
of
her
womb
and
crushed
it
.
She
could
even
now
do
it
,
or
she
thought
so
,
and
she
could
then
take
up
her
passion
with
her
own
will
.
Ah
yes
,
to
be
passionate
like
a
Bacchante
,
like
a
Bacchanal
fleeing
through
the
woods
,
to
call
on
Iacchos
,
the
bright
phallos
that
had
no
independent
personality
behind
it
,
but
was
pure
god
-
servant
to
the
woman
!
The
man
,
the
individual
,
let
him
not
dare
intrude
.
He
was
but
a
temple
-
servant
,
the
bearer
and
keeper
of
the
bright
phallos
,
her
own
.
So
,
in
the
flux
of
new
awakening
,
the
old
hard
passion
flamed
in
her
for
a
time
,
and
the
man
dwindled
to
a
contemptible
object
,
the
mere
phallos
-
bearer
,
to
be
torn
to
pieces
when
his
service
was
performed
.
She
felt
the
force
of
the
Bacchae
in
her
limbs
and
her
body
,
the
woman
gleaming
and
rapid
,
beating
down
the
male
;
but
while
she
felt
this
,
her
heart
was
heavy
.
She
did
not
want
it
,
it
was
known
and
barren
,
birthless
;
the
adoration
was
her
treasure
.
It
was
so
fathomless
,
so
soft
,
so
deep
and
so
unknown
.
No
,
no
,
she
would
give
up
her
hard
bright
female
power
;
she
was
weary
of
it
,
stiffened
with
it
;
she
would
sink
in
the
new
bath
of
life
,
in
the
depths
of
her
womb
and
her
bowels
that
sang
the
voiceless
song
of
adoration
.
It
was
early
yet
to
begin
to
fear
the
man
.
’
I
walked
over
by
Marehay
,
and
I
had
tea
with
Mrs
Flint
,
’
she
said
to
Clifford
.
’
I
wanted
to
see
the
baby
.
It
’
s
so
adorable
,
with
hair
like
red
cobwebs
.
Such
a
dear
!
Mr
Flint
had
gone
to
market
,
so
she
and
I
and
the
baby
had
tea
together
.
Did
you
wonder
where
I
was
?
’
’
Well
,
I
wondered
,
but
I
guessed
you
had
dropped
in
somewhere
to
tea
,
’
said
Clifford
jealously
.
With
a
sort
of
second
sight
he
sensed
something
new
in
her
,
something
to
him
quite
incomprehensible
,
but
he
ascribed
it
to
the
baby
.
He
thought
that
all
that
ailed
Connie
was
that
she
did
not
have
a
baby
,
automatically
bring
one
forth
,
so
to
speak
.
’
I
saw
you
go
across
the
park
to
the
iron
gate
,
my
Lady
,
’
said
Mrs
Bolton
;
’
so
I
thought
perhaps
you
’
d
called
at
the
Rectory
.
’
