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- Дэвид Герберт Лоуренс
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- Любовник леди Чаттерлей
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- Стр. 34/388
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There
was
a
certain
pathos
.
The
wood
still
had
some
of
the
mystery
of
wild
,
old
England
;
but
Sir
Geoffrey
’
s
cuttings
during
the
war
had
given
it
a
blow
.
How
still
the
trees
were
,
with
their
crinkly
,
innumerable
twigs
against
the
sky
,
and
their
grey
,
obstinate
trunks
rising
from
the
brown
bracken
!
How
safely
the
birds
flitted
among
them
!
And
once
there
had
been
deer
,
and
archers
,
and
monks
padding
along
on
asses
.
The
place
remembered
,
still
remembered
.
Clifford
sat
in
the
pale
sun
,
with
the
light
on
his
smooth
,
rather
blond
hair
,
his
reddish
full
face
inscrutable
.
’
I
mind
more
,
not
having
a
son
,
when
I
come
here
,
than
any
other
time
,
’
he
said
.
’
But
the
wood
is
older
than
your
family
,
’
said
Connie
gently
.
’
Quite
!
’
said
Clifford
.
’
But
we
’
ve
preserved
it
.
Except
for
us
it
would
go
.
.
.
it
would
be
gone
already
,
like
the
rest
of
the
forest
.
One
must
preserve
some
of
the
old
England
!
’
’
Must
one
?
’
said
Connie
.
’
If
it
has
to
be
preserved
,
and
preserved
against
the
new
England
?
It
’
s
sad
,
I
know
.
’
’
If
some
of
the
old
England
isn
’
t
preserved
,
there
’
ll
be
no
England
at
all
,
’
said
Clifford
.
’
And
we
who
have
this
kind
of
property
,
and
the
feeling
for
it
,
must
preserve
it
.
’
There
was
a
sad
pause
.
’
Yes
,
for
a
little
while
,
’
said
Connie
.
’
For
a
little
while
!
It
’
s
all
we
can
do
.
We
can
only
do
our
bit
.
I
feel
every
man
of
my
family
has
done
his
bit
here
,
since
we
’
ve
had
the
place
.
One
may
go
against
convention
,
but
one
must
keep
up
tradition
.
’
Again
there
was
a
pause
.
’
What
tradition
?
’
asked
Connie
.
