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- Дэвид Герберт Лоуренс
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- Любовник леди Чаттерлей
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- Стр. 236/388
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’
I
think
I
will
have
a
cup
of
tea
now
,
’
she
said
.
He
rose
to
make
it
.
But
his
face
was
set
.
As
they
sat
at
table
she
asked
him
:
’
Why
did
you
marry
her
?
She
was
commoner
than
yourself
.
Mrs
Bolton
told
me
about
her
.
She
could
never
understand
why
you
married
her
.
’
He
looked
at
her
fixedly
.
’
I
’
ll
tell
you
,
’
he
said
.
’
The
first
girl
I
had
,
I
began
with
when
I
was
sixteen
.
She
was
a
school
-
master
’
s
daughter
over
at
Ollerton
,
pretty
,
beautiful
really
.
I
was
supposed
to
be
a
clever
sort
of
young
fellow
from
Sheffield
Grammar
School
,
with
a
bit
of
French
and
German
,
very
much
up
aloft
.
She
was
the
romantic
sort
that
hated
commonness
.
She
egged
me
on
to
poetry
and
reading
:
in
a
way
,
she
made
a
man
of
me
.
I
read
and
I
thought
like
a
house
on
fire
,
for
her
.
And
I
was
a
clerk
in
Butterley
offices
,
thin
,
white
-
faced
fellow
fuming
with
all
the
things
I
read
.
And
about
everything
I
talked
to
her
:
but
everything
.
We
talked
ourselves
into
Persepolis
and
Timbuctoo
.
We
were
the
most
literary
-
cultured
couple
in
ten
counties
.
I
held
forth
with
rapture
to
her
,
positively
with
rapture
.
I
simply
went
up
in
smoke
.
And
she
adored
me
.
The
serpent
in
the
grass
was
sex
.
She
somehow
didn
’
t
have
any
;
at
least
,
not
where
it
’
s
supposed
to
be
.
I
got
thinner
and
crazier
.
Then
I
said
we
’
d
got
to
be
lovers
.
I
talked
her
into
it
,
as
usual
.
So
she
let
me
.
I
was
excited
,
and
she
never
wanted
it
.
She
just
didn
’
t
want
it
.
She
adored
me
,
she
loved
me
to
talk
to
her
and
kiss
her
:
in
that
way
she
had
a
passion
for
me
.
But
the
other
,
she
just
didn
’
t
want
.
And
there
are
lots
of
women
like
her
.
And
it
was
just
the
other
that
I
did
want
.
So
there
we
split
.
I
was
cruel
,
and
left
her
.
Then
I
took
on
with
another
girl
,
a
teacher
,
who
had
made
a
scandal
by
carrying
on
with
a
married
man
and
driving
him
nearly
out
of
his
mind
.
She
was
a
soft
,
white
-
skinned
,
soft
sort
of
a
woman
,
older
than
me
,
and
played
the
fiddle
.
And
she
was
a
demon
.
She
loved
everything
about
love
,
except
the
sex
.
Clinging
,
caressing
,
creeping
into
you
in
every
way
:
but
if
you
forced
her
to
the
sex
itself
,
she
just
ground
her
teeth
and
sent
out
hate
.
I
forced
her
to
it
,
and
she
could
simply
numb
me
with
hate
because
of
it
.
So
I
was
balked
again
.
I
loathed
all
that
.
I
wanted
a
woman
who
wanted
me
,
and
wanted
it
.
’
Then
came
Bertha
Coutts
.
They
’
d
lived
next
door
to
us
when
I
was
a
little
lad
,
so
I
knew
’
em
all
right
.
And
they
were
common
.
Well
,
Bertha
went
away
to
some
place
or
other
in
Birmingham
;
she
said
,
as
a
lady
’
s
companion
;
everybody
else
said
,
as
a
waitress
or
something
in
a
hotel
.
Anyhow
just
when
I
was
more
than
fed
up
with
that
other
girl
,
when
I
was
twenty
-
one
,
back
comes
Bertha
,
with
airs
and
graces
and
smart
clothes
and
a
sort
of
bloom
on
her
:
a
sort
of
sensual
bloom
that
you
’
d
see
sometimes
on
a
woman
,
or
on
a
trolly
.
Well
,
I
was
in
a
state
of
murder
.
I
chucked
up
my
job
at
Butterley
because
I
thought
I
was
a
weed
,
clerking
there
:
and
I
got
on
as
overhead
blacksmith
at
Tevershall
:
shoeing
horses
mostly
.
It
had
been
my
dad
’
s
job
,
and
I
’
d
always
been
with
him
.
It
was
a
job
I
liked
:
handling
horses
:
and
it
came
natural
to
me
.
So
I
stopped
talking
"
fine
"
,
as
they
call
it
,
talking
proper
English
,
and
went
back
to
talking
broad
.
I
still
read
books
,
at
home
:
but
I
blacksmithed
and
had
a
pony
-
trap
of
my
own
,
and
was
My
Lord
Duckfoot
.
My
dad
left
me
three
hundred
pounds
when
he
died
.
So
I
took
on
with
Bertha
,
and
I
was
glad
she
was
common
.
I
wanted
her
to
be
common
.
I
wanted
to
be
common
myself
.
Well
,
I
married
her
,
and
she
wasn
’
t
bad
.
Those
other
"
pure
"
women
had
nearly
taken
all
the
balls
out
of
me
,
but
she
was
all
right
that
way
.
She
wanted
me
,
and
made
no
bones
about
it
.
And
I
was
as
pleased
as
punch
.
That
was
what
I
wanted
:
a
woman
who
wanted
me
to
fuck
her
.
So
I
fucked
her
like
a
good
un
.
And
I
think
she
despised
me
a
bit
,
for
being
so
pleased
about
it
,
and
bringin
’
her
her
breakfast
in
bed
sometimes
.
She
sort
of
let
things
go
,
didn
’
t
get
me
a
proper
dinner
when
I
came
home
from
work
,
and
if
I
said
anything
,
flew
out
at
me
.
And
I
flew
back
,
hammer
and
tongs
.
She
flung
a
cup
at
me
and
I
took
her
by
the
scruff
of
the
neck
and
squeezed
the
life
out
of
her
.
That
sort
of
thing
!
But
she
treated
me
with
insolence
.
And
she
got
so
’
s
she
’
d
never
have
me
when
I
wanted
her
:
never
.
Always
put
me
off
,
brutal
as
you
like
.
And
then
when
she
’
d
put
me
right
off
,
and
I
didn
’
t
want
her
,
she
’
d
come
all
lovey
-
dovey
,
and
get
me
.
And
I
always
went
.
But
when
I
had
her
,
she
’
d
never
come
off
when
I
did
.
Never
!
She
’
d
just
wait
.
If
I
kept
back
for
half
an
hour
,
she
’
d
keep
back
longer
.
And
when
I
’
d
come
and
really
finished
,
then
she
’
d
start
on
her
own
account
,
and
I
had
to
stop
inside
her
till
she
brought
herself
off
,
wriggling
and
shouting
,
she
’
d
clutch
clutch
with
herself
down
there
,
an
’
then
she
’
d
come
off
,
fair
in
ecstasy
.
And
then
she
’
d
say
:
That
was
lovely
!
Gradually
I
got
sick
of
it
:
and
she
got
worse
.
She
sort
of
got
harder
and
harder
to
bring
off
,
and
she
’
d
sort
of
tear
at
me
down
there
,
as
if
it
was
a
beak
tearing
at
me
.
By
God
,
you
think
a
woman
’
s
soft
down
there
,
like
a
fig
.
But
I
tell
you
the
old
rampers
have
beaks
between
their
legs
,
and
they
tear
at
you
with
it
till
you
’
re
sick
.
Self
!
Self
!
Self
!
all
self
!
tearing
and
shouting
!
They
talk
about
men
’
s
selfishness
,
but
I
doubt
if
it
can
ever
touch
a
woman
’
s
blind
beakishness
,
once
she
’
s
gone
that
way
.
Like
an
old
trull
!
And
she
couldn
’
t
help
it
.
I
told
her
about
it
,
I
told
her
how
I
hated
it
.
And
she
’
d
even
try
.
She
’
d
try
to
lie
still
and
let
me
work
the
business
.
She
’
d
try
.
But
it
was
no
good
.
She
got
no
feeling
off
it
,
from
my
working
.
She
had
to
work
the
thing
herself
,
grind
her
own
coffee
.
And
it
came
back
on
her
like
a
raving
necessity
,
she
had
to
let
herself
go
,
and
tear
,
tear
,
tear
,
as
if
she
had
no
sensation
in
her
except
in
the
top
of
her
beak
,
the
very
outside
top
tip
,
that
rubbed
and
tore
.
That
’
s
how
old
whores
used
to
be
,
so
men
used
to
say
.
It
was
a
low
kind
of
self
-
will
in
her
,
a
raving
sort
of
self
-
will
:
like
in
a
woman
who
drinks
.
Well
in
the
end
I
couldn
’
t
stand
it
.
We
slept
apart
.
She
herself
had
started
it
,
in
her
bouts
when
she
wanted
to
be
clear
of
me
,
when
she
said
I
bossed
her
.
