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- Дэвид Герберт Лоуренс
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- Любовник леди Чаттерлей
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- Стр. 152/388
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But
why
care
,
why
bother
?
And
he
had
not
cared
nor
bothered
till
now
,
when
this
woman
had
come
into
his
life
.
He
was
nearly
ten
years
older
than
she
.
And
he
was
a
thousand
years
older
in
experience
,
starting
from
the
bottom
.
The
connexion
between
them
was
growing
closer
.
He
could
see
the
day
when
it
would
clinch
up
and
they
would
have
to
make
a
life
together
.
’
For
the
bonds
of
love
are
ill
to
loose
!
’
And
what
then
?
What
then
?
Must
he
start
again
,
with
nothing
to
start
on
?
Must
he
entangle
this
woman
?
Must
he
have
the
horrible
broil
with
her
lame
husband
?
And
also
some
sort
of
horrible
broil
with
his
own
brutal
wife
,
who
hated
him
?
Misery
!
Lots
of
misery
!
And
he
was
no
longer
young
and
merely
buoyant
.
Neither
was
he
the
insouciant
sort
.
Every
bitterness
and
every
ugliness
would
hurt
him
:
and
the
woman
!
But
even
if
they
got
clear
of
Sir
Clifford
and
of
his
own
wife
,
even
if
they
got
clear
,
what
were
they
going
to
do
?
What
was
he
,
himself
going
to
do
?
What
was
he
going
to
do
with
his
life
?
For
he
must
do
something
.
He
couldn
’
t
be
a
mere
hanger
-
on
,
on
her
money
and
his
own
very
small
pension
.
It
was
the
insoluble
.
He
could
only
think
of
going
to
America
,
to
try
a
new
air
.
He
disbelieved
in
the
dollar
utterly
.
But
perhaps
,
perhaps
there
was
something
else
.
He
could
not
rest
nor
even
go
to
bed
.
After
sitting
in
a
stupor
of
bitter
thoughts
until
midnight
,
he
got
suddenly
from
his
chair
and
reached
for
his
coat
and
gun
.
’
Come
on
,
lass
,
’
he
said
to
the
dog
.
’
We
’
re
best
outside
.
’
It
was
a
starry
night
,
but
moonless
.
He
went
on
a
slow
,
scrupulous
,
soft
-
stepping
and
stealthy
round
.
The
only
thing
he
had
to
contend
with
was
the
colliers
setting
snares
for
rabbits
,
particularly
the
Stacks
Gate
colliers
,
on
the
Marehay
side
.
But
it
was
breeding
season
,
and
even
colliers
respected
it
a
little
.
Nevertheless
the
stealthy
beating
of
the
round
in
search
of
poachers
soothed
his
nerves
and
took
his
mind
off
his
thoughts
.
But
when
he
had
done
his
slow
,
cautious
beating
of
his
bounds
-
-
it
was
nearly
a
five
-
mile
walk
-
-
he
was
tired
.
He
went
to
the
top
of
the
knoll
and
looked
out
.
There
was
no
sound
save
the
noise
,
the
faint
shuffling
noise
from
Stacks
Gate
colliery
,
that
never
ceased
working
:
and
there
were
hardly
any
lights
,
save
the
brilliant
electric
rows
at
the
works
.
The
world
lay
darkly
and
fumily
sleeping
.
It
was
half
past
two
.
But
even
in
its
sleep
it
was
an
uneasy
,
cruel
world
,
stirring
with
the
noise
of
a
train
or
some
great
lorry
on
the
road
,
and
flashing
with
some
rosy
lightning
flash
from
the
furnaces
.
It
was
a
world
of
iron
and
coal
,
the
cruelty
of
iron
and
the
smoke
of
coal
,
and
the
endless
,
endless
greed
that
drove
it
all
.
Only
greed
,
greed
stirring
in
its
sleep
.
It
was
cold
,
and
he
was
coughing
.
A
fine
cold
draught
blew
over
the
knoll
.
He
thought
of
the
woman
.
Now
he
would
have
given
all
he
had
or
ever
might
have
to
hold
her
warm
in
his
arms
,
both
of
them
wrapped
in
one
blanket
,
and
sleep
.
