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- Дэвид Герберт Лоуренс
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- Любовник леди Чаттерлей
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- Стр. 62/388
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The
air
was
soft
and
dead
,
as
if
all
the
world
were
slowly
dying
.
Grey
and
clammy
and
silent
,
even
from
the
shuffling
of
the
collieries
,
for
the
pits
were
working
short
time
,
and
today
they
were
stopped
altogether
.
The
end
of
all
things
!
In
the
wood
all
was
utterly
inert
and
motionless
,
only
great
drops
fell
from
the
bare
boughs
,
with
a
hollow
little
crash
.
For
the
rest
,
among
the
old
trees
was
depth
within
depth
of
grey
,
hopeless
inertia
,
silence
,
nothingness
.
Connie
walked
dimly
on
.
From
the
old
wood
came
an
ancient
melancholy
,
somehow
soothing
to
her
,
better
than
the
harsh
insentience
of
the
outer
world
.
She
liked
the
inwardness
of
the
remnant
of
forest
,
the
unspeaking
reticence
of
the
old
trees
.
They
seemed
a
very
power
of
silence
,
and
yet
a
vital
presence
.
They
,
too
,
were
waiting
:
obstinately
,
stoically
waiting
,
and
giving
off
a
potency
of
silence
.
Perhaps
they
were
only
waiting
for
the
end
;
to
be
cut
down
,
cleared
away
,
the
end
of
the
forest
,
for
them
the
end
of
all
things
.
But
perhaps
their
strong
and
aristocratic
silence
,
the
silence
of
strong
trees
,
meant
something
else
.
As
she
came
out
of
the
wood
on
the
north
side
,
the
keeper
’
s
cottage
,
a
rather
dark
,
brown
stone
cottage
,
with
gables
and
a
handsome
chimney
,
looked
uninhabited
,
it
was
so
silent
and
alone
.
But
a
thread
of
smoke
rose
from
the
chimney
,
and
the
little
railed
-
in
garden
in
the
front
of
the
house
was
dug
and
kept
very
tidy
.
The
door
was
shut
.
Now
she
was
here
she
felt
a
little
shy
of
the
man
,
with
his
curious
far
-
seeing
eyes
.
She
did
not
like
bringing
him
orders
,
and
felt
like
going
away
again
.
She
knocked
softly
,
no
one
came
.
She
knocked
again
,
but
still
not
loudly
.
There
was
no
answer
.
She
peeped
through
the
window
,
and
saw
the
dark
little
room
,
with
its
almost
sinister
privacy
,
not
wanting
to
be
invaded
.
She
stood
and
listened
,
and
it
seemed
to
her
she
heard
sounds
from
the
back
of
the
cottage
.
Having
failed
to
make
herself
heard
,
her
mettle
was
roused
,
she
would
not
be
defeated
.
So
she
went
round
the
side
of
the
house
.
At
the
back
of
the
cottage
the
land
rose
steeply
,
so
the
back
yard
was
sunken
,
and
enclosed
by
a
low
stone
wall
.
She
turned
the
corner
of
the
house
and
stopped
.
In
the
little
yard
two
paces
beyond
her
,
the
man
was
washing
himself
,
utterly
unaware
.
He
was
naked
to
the
hips
,
his
velveteen
breeches
slipping
down
over
his
slender
loins
.
And
his
white
slim
back
was
curved
over
a
big
bowl
of
soapy
water
,
in
which
he
ducked
his
head
,
shaking
his
head
with
a
queer
,
quick
little
motion
,
lifting
his
slender
white
arms
,
and
pressing
the
soapy
water
from
his
ears
,
quick
,
subtle
as
a
weasel
playing
with
water
,
and
utterly
alone
.
Connie
backed
away
round
the
corner
of
the
house
,
and
hurried
away
to
the
wood
.
In
spite
of
herself
,
she
had
had
a
shock
.
After
all
,
merely
a
man
washing
himself
,
commonplace
enough
,
Heaven
knows
!
Yet
in
some
curious
way
it
was
a
visionary
experience
:
it
had
hit
her
in
the
middle
of
the
body
.
She
saw
the
clumsy
breeches
slipping
down
over
the
pure
,
delicate
,
white
loins
,
the
bones
showing
a
little
,
and
the
sense
of
aloneness
,
of
a
creature
purely
alone
,
overwhelmed
her
.
Perfect
,
white
,
solitary
nudity
of
a
creature
that
lives
alone
,
and
inwardly
alone
.
And
beyond
that
,
a
certain
beauty
of
a
pure
creature
.
Not
the
stuff
of
beauty
,
not
even
the
body
of
beauty
,
but
a
lambency
,
the
warm
,
white
flame
of
a
single
life
,
revealing
itself
in
contours
that
one
might
touch
:
a
body
!
Connie
had
received
the
shock
of
vision
in
her
womb
,
and
she
knew
it
;
it
lay
inside
her
.
But
with
her
mind
she
was
inclined
to
ridicule
.
