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- Дэвид Герберт Лоуренс
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- Любовник леди Чаттерлей
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- Стр. 366/388
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’
Criminals
,
I
suppose
.
’
’
Hope
I
can
plunge
in
the
dagger
a
few
more
times
yet
,
’
he
said
,
grinning
.
Then
he
was
silent
,
and
angry
.
’
Well
!
’
he
said
at
last
.
’
I
agree
to
anything
.
The
world
is
a
raving
idiot
,
and
no
man
can
kill
it
:
though
I
’
ll
do
my
best
.
But
you
’
re
right
.
We
must
rescue
ourselves
as
best
we
can
.
’
He
looked
in
humiliation
,
anger
,
weariness
and
misery
at
Connie
.
’
Ma
lass
!
’
he
said
.
’
The
world
’
s
goin
’
to
put
salt
on
thy
tail
.
’
’
Not
if
we
don
’
t
let
it
,
’
she
said
.
She
minded
this
conniving
against
the
world
less
than
he
did
.
Duncan
,
when
approached
,
also
insisted
on
seeing
the
delinquent
game
-
keeper
,
so
there
was
a
dinner
,
this
time
in
his
flat
:
the
four
of
them
.
Duncan
was
a
rather
short
,
broad
,
dark
-
skinned
,
taciturn
Hamlet
of
a
fellow
with
straight
black
hair
and
a
weird
Celtic
conceit
of
himself
.
His
art
was
all
tubes
and
valves
and
spirals
and
strange
colours
,
ultra
-
modern
,
yet
with
a
certain
power
,
even
a
certain
purity
of
form
and
tone
:
only
Mellors
thought
it
cruel
and
repellent
.
He
did
not
venture
to
say
so
,
for
Duncan
was
almost
insane
on
the
point
of
his
art
:
it
was
a
personal
cult
,
a
personal
religion
with
him
.
They
were
looking
at
the
pictures
in
the
studio
,
and
Duncan
kept
his
smallish
brown
eyes
on
the
other
man
.
He
wanted
to
hear
what
the
game
-
keeper
would
say
.
He
knew
already
Connie
’
s
and
Hilda
’
s
opinions
.
