-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Дэвид Герберт Лоуренс
-
- Любовник леди Чаттерлей
-
- Стр. 43/388
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
’
More
or
less
!
He
has
a
mother
in
the
village
.
.
.
and
a
child
,
I
believe
.
’
Clifford
looked
at
Connie
,
with
his
pale
,
slightly
prominent
blue
eyes
,
in
which
a
certain
vagueness
was
coming
.
He
seemed
alert
in
the
foreground
,
but
the
background
was
like
the
Midlands
atmosphere
,
haze
,
smoky
mist
.
And
the
haze
seemed
to
be
creeping
forward
.
So
when
he
stared
at
Connie
in
his
peculiar
way
,
giving
her
his
peculiar
,
precise
information
,
she
felt
all
the
background
of
his
mind
filling
up
with
mist
,
with
nothingness
.
And
it
frightened
her
.
It
made
him
seem
impersonal
,
almost
to
idiocy
.
And
dimly
she
realized
one
of
the
great
laws
of
the
human
soul
:
that
when
the
emotional
soul
receives
a
wounding
shock
,
which
does
not
kill
the
body
,
the
soul
seems
to
recover
as
the
body
recovers
.
But
this
is
only
appearance
.
It
is
really
only
the
mechanism
of
the
re
-
assumed
habit
.
Slowly
,
slowly
the
wound
to
the
soul
begins
to
make
itself
felt
,
like
a
bruise
,
which
only
slowly
deepens
its
terrible
ache
,
till
it
fills
all
the
psyche
.
And
when
we
think
we
have
recovered
and
forgotten
,
it
is
then
that
the
terrible
after
-
effects
have
to
be
encountered
at
their
worst
.
So
it
was
with
Clifford
.
Once
he
was
’
well
’
,
once
he
was
back
at
Wragby
,
and
writing
his
stories
,
and
feeling
sure
of
life
,
in
spite
of
all
,
he
seemed
to
forget
,
and
to
have
recovered
all
his
equanimity
.
But
now
,
as
the
years
went
by
,
slowly
,
slowly
,
Connie
felt
the
bruise
of
fear
and
horror
coming
up
,
and
spreading
in
him
.
For
a
time
it
had
been
so
deep
as
to
be
numb
,
as
it
were
non
-
existent
.
Now
slowly
it
began
to
assert
itself
in
a
spread
of
fear
,
almost
paralysis
.
Mentally
he
still
was
alert
.
But
the
paralysis
,
the
bruise
of
the
too
-
great
shock
,
was
gradually
spreading
in
his
affective
self
.
And
as
it
spread
in
him
,
Connie
felt
it
spread
in
her
.
An
inward
dread
,
an
emptiness
,
an
indifference
to
everything
gradually
spread
in
her
soul
.
When
Clifford
was
roused
,
he
could
still
talk
brilliantly
and
,
as
it
were
,
command
the
future
:
as
when
,
in
the
wood
,
he
talked
about
her
having
a
child
,
and
giving
an
heir
to
Wragby
.
But
the
day
after
,
all
the
brilliant
words
seemed
like
dead
leaves
,
crumpling
up
and
turning
to
powder
,
meaning
really
nothing
,
blown
away
on
any
gust
of
wind
.
They
were
not
the
leafy
words
of
an
effective
life
,
young
with
energy
and
belonging
to
the
tree
.
They
were
the
hosts
of
fallen
leaves
of
a
life
that
is
ineffectual
.
So
it
seemed
to
her
everywhere
.
The
colliers
at
Tevershall
were
talking
again
of
a
strike
,
and
it
seemed
to
Connie
there
again
it
was
not
a
manifestation
of
energy
,
it
was
the
bruise
of
the
war
that
had
been
in
abeyance
,
slowly
rising
to
the
surface
and
creating
the
great
ache
of
unrest
,
and
stupor
of
discontent
.
The
bruise
was
deep
,
deep
,
deep
.
.
.
the
bruise
of
the
false
inhuman
war
.
It
would
take
many
years
for
the
living
blood
of
the
generations
to
dissolve
the
vast
black
clot
of
bruised
blood
,
deep
inside
their
souls
and
bodies
.
And
it
would
need
a
new
hope
.
Poor
Connie
!
As
the
years
drew
on
it
was
the
fear
of
nothingness
In
her
life
that
affected
her
.
Clifford
’
s
mental
life
and
hers
gradually
began
to
feel
like
nothingness
.
Their
marriage
,
their
integrated
life
based
on
a
habit
of
intimacy
,
that
he
talked
about
:
there
were
days
when
it
all
became
utterly
blank
and
nothing
.
It
was
words
,
just
so
many
words
.
The
only
reality
was
nothingness
,
and
over
it
a
hypocrisy
of
words
.
There
was
Clifford
’
s
success
:
the
bitch
-
goddess
!
It
was
true
he
was
almost
famous
,
and
his
books
brought
him
in
a
thousand
pounds
.
His
photograph
appeared
everywhere
.
There
was
a
bust
of
him
in
one
of
the
galleries
,
and
a
portrait
of
him
in
two
galleries
.
He
seemed
the
most
modern
of
modern
voices
.
With
his
uncanny
lame
instinct
for
publicity
,
he
had
become
in
four
or
five
years
one
of
the
best
known
of
the
young
’
intellectuals
’
.
Where
the
intellect
came
in
,
Connie
did
not
quite
see
.
Clifford
was
really
clever
at
that
slightly
humorous
analysis
of
people
and
motives
which
leaves
everything
in
bits
at
the
end
.
But
it
was
rather
like
puppies
tearing
the
sofa
cushions
to
bits
;
except
that
it
was
not
young
and
playful
,
but
curiously
old
,
and
rather
obstinately
conceited
.
It
was
weird
and
it
was
nothing
.
This
was
the
feeling
that
echoed
and
re
-
echoed
at
the
bottom
of
Connie
’
s
soul
:
it
was
all
flag
,
a
wonderful
display
of
nothingness
;
At
the
same
time
a
display
.
A
display
!
a
display
!
a
display
!
