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- Дэвид Герберт Лоуренс
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- Любовник леди Чаттерлей
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- Стр. 367/388
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’
It
is
like
a
pure
bit
of
murder
,
’
said
Mellors
at
last
;
a
speech
Duncan
by
no
means
expected
from
a
game
-
keeper
.
’
And
who
is
murdered
?
’
asked
Hilda
,
rather
coldly
and
sneeringly
.
’
Me
!
It
murders
all
the
bowels
of
compassion
in
a
man
.
’
A
wave
of
pure
hate
came
out
of
the
artist
.
He
heard
the
note
of
dislike
in
the
other
man
’
s
voice
,
and
the
note
of
contempt
.
And
he
himself
loathed
the
mention
of
bowels
of
compassion
.
Sickly
sentiment
!
Mellors
stood
rather
tall
and
thin
,
worn
-
looking
,
gazing
with
flickering
detachment
that
was
something
like
the
dancing
of
a
moth
on
the
wing
,
at
the
pictures
.
’
Perhaps
stupidity
is
murdered
;
sentimental
stupidity
,
’
sneered
the
artist
.
’
Do
you
think
so
?
I
think
all
these
tubes
and
corrugated
vibrations
are
stupid
enough
for
anything
,
and
pretty
sentimental
.
They
show
a
lot
of
self
-
pity
and
an
awful
lot
of
nervous
self
-
opinion
,
seems
to
me
.
’
In
another
wave
of
hate
the
artist
’
s
face
looked
yellow
.
But
with
a
sort
of
silent
hauteur
he
turned
the
pictures
to
the
wall
.
’
I
think
we
may
go
to
the
dining
-
room
,
’
he
said
.
And
they
trailed
off
,
dismally
.
After
coffee
,
Duncan
said
:
