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- Дэвид Герберт Лоуренс
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- Любовник леди Чаттерлей
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- Стр. 60/388
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Money
?
Perhaps
one
couldn
’
t
say
the
same
there
.
Money
one
always
wanted
.
Money
,
Success
,
the
bitch
-
goddess
,
as
Tommy
Dukes
persisted
in
calling
it
,
after
Henry
James
,
that
was
a
permanent
necessity
.
You
couldn
’
t
spend
your
last
sou
,
and
say
finally
:
So
that
’
s
that
!
No
,
if
you
lived
even
another
ten
minutes
,
you
wanted
a
few
more
sous
for
something
or
other
.
Just
to
keep
the
business
mechanically
going
,
you
needed
money
.
You
had
to
have
it
.
Money
you
have
to
have
.
You
needn
’
t
really
have
anything
else
.
So
that
’
s
that
!
Since
,
of
course
,
it
’
s
not
your
own
fault
you
are
alive
.
Once
you
are
alive
,
money
is
a
necessity
,
and
the
only
absolute
necessity
.
All
the
rest
you
can
get
along
without
,
at
a
pinch
.
But
not
money
.
Emphatically
,
that
’
s
that
!
She
thought
of
Michaelis
,
and
the
money
she
might
have
had
with
him
;
and
even
that
she
didn
’
t
want
.
She
preferred
the
lesser
amount
which
she
helped
Clifford
to
make
by
his
writing
.
That
she
actually
helped
to
make
.
-
-
’
Clifford
and
I
together
,
we
make
twelve
hundred
a
year
out
of
writing
’
;
so
she
put
it
to
herself
.
Make
money
!
Make
it
!
Out
of
nowhere
.
Wring
it
out
of
the
thin
air
!
The
last
feat
to
be
humanly
proud
of
!
The
rest
all
-
my
-
eye
-
Betty
-
Martin
.
So
she
plodded
home
to
Clifford
,
to
join
forces
with
him
again
,
to
make
another
story
out
of
nothingness
:
and
a
story
meant
money
.
Clifford
seemed
to
care
very
much
whether
his
stories
were
considered
first
-
class
literature
or
not
.
Strictly
,
she
didn
’
t
care
.
Nothing
in
it
!
said
her
father
.
Twelve
hundred
pounds
last
year
!
was
the
retort
simple
and
final
.
If
you
were
young
,
you
just
set
your
teeth
,
and
bit
on
and
held
on
,
till
the
money
began
to
flow
from
the
invisible
;
it
was
a
question
of
power
.
It
was
a
question
of
will
;
a
subtle
,
subtle
,
powerful
emanation
of
will
out
of
yourself
brought
back
to
you
the
mysterious
nothingness
of
money
a
word
on
a
bit
of
paper
.
It
was
a
sort
of
magic
,
certainly
it
was
triumph
.
The
bitch
-
goddess
!
Well
,
if
one
had
to
prostitute
oneself
,
let
it
be
to
a
bitch
-
goddess
!
One
could
always
despise
her
even
while
one
prostituted
oneself
to
her
,
which
was
good
.
Clifford
,
of
course
,
had
still
many
childish
taboos
and
fetishes
.
He
wanted
to
be
thought
’
really
good
’
,
which
was
all
cock
-
a
-
hoopy
nonsense
.
What
was
really
good
was
what
actually
caught
on
.
It
was
no
good
being
really
good
and
getting
left
with
it
.
It
seemed
as
if
most
of
the
’
really
good
’
men
just
missed
the
bus
.
After
all
you
only
lived
one
life
,
and
if
you
missed
the
bus
,
you
were
just
left
on
the
pavement
,
along
with
the
rest
of
the
failures
.
Connie
was
contemplating
a
winter
in
London
with
Clifford
,
next
winter
.
He
and
she
had
caught
the
bus
all
right
,
so
they
might
as
well
ride
on
top
for
a
bit
,
and
show
it
.
The
worst
of
it
was
,
Clifford
tended
to
become
vague
,
absent
,
and
to
fall
into
fits
of
vacant
depression
.
It
was
the
wound
to
his
psyche
coming
out
.
But
it
made
Connie
want
to
scream
.
Oh
God
,
if
the
mechanism
of
the
consciousness
itself
was
going
to
go
wrong
,
then
what
was
one
to
do
?
Hang
it
all
,
one
did
one
’
s
bit
!
Was
one
to
be
let
down
absolutely
?
