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- Дэвид Герберт Лоуренс
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- Любовник леди Чаттерлей
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- Стр. 172/388
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’
Why
,
Flossie
!
’
she
said
softly
.
’
What
are
you
doing
here
?
’
And
she
quietly
opened
Clifford
’
s
door
.
Clifford
was
sitting
up
in
bed
,
with
the
bed
-
table
and
typewriter
pushed
aside
,
and
the
keeper
was
standing
at
attention
at
the
foot
of
the
bed
.
Flossie
ran
in
.
With
a
faint
gesture
of
head
and
eyes
,
Mellors
ordered
her
to
the
door
again
,
and
she
slunk
out
.
’
Oh
,
good
morning
,
Clifford
!
’
Connie
said
.
’
I
didn
’
t
know
you
were
busy
.
’
Then
she
looked
at
the
keeper
,
saying
good
morning
to
him
.
He
murmured
his
reply
,
looking
at
her
as
if
vaguely
.
But
she
felt
a
whiff
of
passion
touch
her
,
from
his
mere
presence
.
’
Did
I
interrupt
you
,
Clifford
?
I
’
m
sorry
.
’
’
No
,
it
’
s
nothing
of
any
importance
.
’
She
slipped
out
of
the
room
again
,
and
up
to
the
blue
boudoir
on
the
first
floor
.
She
sat
in
the
window
,
and
saw
him
go
down
the
drive
,
with
his
curious
,
silent
motion
,
effaced
.
He
had
a
natural
sort
of
quiet
distinction
,
an
aloof
pride
,
and
also
a
certain
look
of
frailty
.
A
hireling
!
One
of
Clifford
’
s
hirelings
!
’
The
fault
,
dear
Brutus
,
is
not
in
our
stars
,
but
in
ourselves
,
that
we
are
underlings
.
’
Was
he
an
underling
?
Was
he
?
What
did
he
think
of
her
?
It
was
a
sunny
day
,
and
Connie
was
working
in
the
garden
,
and
Mrs
Bolton
was
helping
her
.
For
some
reason
,
the
two
women
had
drawn
together
,
in
one
of
the
unaccountable
flows
and
ebbs
of
sympathy
that
exist
between
people
.
They
were
pegging
down
carnations
,
and
putting
in
small
plants
for
the
summer
.
It
was
work
they
both
liked
.
Connie
especially
felt
a
delight
in
putting
the
soft
roots
of
young
plants
into
a
soft
black
puddle
,
and
cradling
them
down
.
On
this
spring
morning
she
felt
a
quiver
in
her
womb
too
,
as
if
the
sunshine
had
touched
it
and
made
it
happy
.
’
It
is
many
years
since
you
lost
your
husband
?
’
she
said
to
Mrs
Bolton
as
she
took
up
another
little
plant
and
laid
it
in
its
hole
.
