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- Дэвид Герберт Лоуренс
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- Любовник леди Чаттерлей
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- Стр. 68/388
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Like
hillocks
of
sand
,
the
Arabs
say
,
soft
and
downward
-
slipping
with
a
long
slope
.
Here
the
life
still
lingered
hoping
.
But
here
too
she
was
thinner
,
and
going
unripe
,
astringent
.
But
the
front
of
her
body
made
her
miserable
.
It
was
already
beginning
to
slacken
,
with
a
slack
sort
of
thinness
,
almost
withered
,
going
old
before
it
had
ever
really
lived
.
She
thought
of
the
child
she
might
somehow
bear
.
Was
she
fit
,
anyhow
?
She
slipped
into
her
nightdress
,
and
went
to
bed
,
where
she
sobbed
bitterly
.
And
in
her
bitterness
burned
a
cold
indignation
against
Clifford
,
and
his
writings
and
his
talk
:
against
all
the
men
of
his
sort
who
defrauded
a
woman
even
of
her
own
body
.
Unjust
!
Unjust
!
The
sense
of
deep
physical
injustice
burned
to
her
very
soul
.
But
in
the
morning
,
all
the
same
,
she
was
up
at
seven
,
and
going
downstairs
to
Clifford
.
She
had
to
help
him
in
all
the
intimate
things
,
for
he
had
no
man
,
and
refused
a
woman
-
servant
.
The
housekeeper
’
s
husband
,
who
had
known
him
as
a
boy
,
helped
him
,
and
did
any
heavy
lifting
;
but
Connie
did
the
personal
things
,
and
she
did
them
willingly
.
It
was
a
demand
on
her
,
but
she
had
wanted
to
do
what
she
could
.
So
she
hardly
ever
went
away
from
Wragby
,
and
never
for
more
than
a
day
or
two
;
when
Mrs
Betts
,
the
housekeeper
,
attended
to
Clifford
.
He
,
as
was
inevitable
in
the
course
of
time
,
took
all
the
service
for
granted
.
It
was
natural
he
should
.
And
yet
,
deep
inside
herself
,
a
sense
of
injustice
,
of
being
defrauded
,
had
begun
to
burn
in
Connie
.
The
physical
sense
of
injustice
is
a
dangerous
feeling
,
once
it
is
awakened
.
It
must
have
outlet
,
or
it
eats
away
the
one
in
whom
it
is
aroused
.
Poor
Clifford
,
he
was
not
to
blame
.
His
was
the
greater
misfortune
.
It
was
all
part
of
the
general
catastrophe
.
And
yet
was
he
not
in
a
way
to
blame
?
This
lack
of
warmth
,
this
lack
of
the
simple
,
warm
,
physical
contact
,
was
he
not
to
blame
for
that
?
He
was
never
really
warm
,
nor
even
kind
,
only
thoughtful
,
considerate
,
in
a
well
-
bred
,
cold
sort
of
way
!
But
never
warm
as
a
man
can
be
warm
to
a
woman
,
as
even
Connie
’
s
father
could
be
warm
to
her
,
with
the
warmth
of
a
man
who
did
himself
well
,
and
intended
to
,
but
who
still
could
comfort
a
woman
with
a
bit
of
his
masculine
glow
.
But
Clifford
was
not
like
that
.
His
whole
race
was
not
like
that
.
They
were
all
inwardly
hard
and
separate
,
and
warmth
to
them
was
just
bad
taste
.
You
had
to
get
on
without
it
,
and
hold
your
own
;
which
was
all
very
well
if
you
were
of
the
same
class
and
race
.
Then
you
could
keep
yourself
cold
and
be
very
estimable
,
and
hold
your
own
,
and
enjoy
the
satisfaction
of
holding
it
.
But
if
you
were
of
another
class
and
another
race
it
wouldn
’
t
do
;
there
was
no
fun
merely
holding
your
own
,
and
feeling
you
belonged
to
the
ruling
class
.
What
was
the
point
,
when
even
the
smartest
aristocrats
had
really
nothing
positive
of
their
own
to
hold
,
and
their
rule
was
really
a
farce
,
not
rule
at
all
?
What
was
the
point
?
It
was
all
cold
nonsense
.
