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- Дэвид Герберт Лоуренс
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- Любовник леди Чаттерлей
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- Стр. 81/388
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’
And
just
take
those
old
papers
out
,
will
you
?
’
’
Very
well
,
Sir
Clifford
.
’
She
went
softly
,
and
in
half
an
hour
she
came
softly
again
.
She
was
bullied
,
but
she
didn
’
t
mind
.
She
was
experiencing
the
upper
classes
.
She
neither
resented
nor
disliked
Clifford
;
he
was
just
part
of
a
phenomenon
,
the
phenomenon
of
the
high
-
class
folks
,
so
far
unknown
to
her
,
but
now
to
be
known
.
She
felt
more
at
home
with
Lady
Chatterley
,
and
after
all
it
’
s
the
mistress
of
the
house
matters
most
.
Mrs
Bolton
helped
Clifford
to
bed
at
night
,
and
slept
across
the
passage
from
his
room
,
and
came
if
he
rang
for
her
in
the
night
.
She
also
helped
him
in
the
morning
,
and
soon
valeted
him
completely
,
even
shaving
him
,
in
her
soft
,
tentative
woman
’
s
way
.
She
was
very
good
and
competent
,
and
she
soon
knew
how
to
have
him
in
her
power
.
He
wasn
’
t
so
very
different
from
the
colliers
after
all
,
when
you
lathered
his
chin
,
and
softly
rubbed
the
bristles
.
The
stand
-
offishness
and
the
lack
of
frankness
didn
’
t
bother
her
;
she
was
having
a
new
experience
.
Clifford
,
however
,
inside
himself
,
never
quite
forgave
Connie
for
giving
up
her
personal
care
of
him
to
a
strange
hired
woman
.
It
killed
,
he
said
to
himself
,
the
real
flower
of
the
intimacy
between
him
and
her
.
But
Connie
didn
’
t
mind
that
.
The
fine
flower
of
their
intimacy
was
to
her
rather
like
an
orchid
,
a
bulb
stuck
parasitic
on
her
tree
of
life
,
and
producing
,
to
her
eyes
,
a
rather
shabby
flower
.
Now
she
had
more
time
to
herself
she
could
softly
play
the
piano
,
up
in
her
room
,
and
sing
:
’
Touch
not
the
nettle
,
for
the
bonds
of
love
are
ill
to
loose
.
’
She
had
not
realized
till
lately
how
ill
to
loose
they
were
,
these
bonds
of
love
.
But
thank
Heaven
she
had
loosened
them
!
She
was
so
glad
to
be
alone
,
not
always
to
have
to
talk
to
him
.
When
he
was
alone
he
tapped
-
tapped
-
tapped
on
a
typewriter
,
to
infinity
.
But
when
he
was
not
’
working
’
,
and
she
was
there
,
he
talked
,
always
talked
;
infinite
small
analysis
of
people
and
motives
,
and
results
,
characters
and
personalities
,
till
now
she
had
had
enough
.
For
years
she
had
loved
it
,
until
she
had
enough
,
and
then
suddenly
it
was
too
much
.
She
was
thankful
to
be
alone
.
It
was
as
if
thousands
and
thousands
of
little
roots
and
threads
of
consciousness
in
him
and
her
had
grown
together
into
a
tangled
mass
,
till
they
could
crowd
no
more
,
and
the
plant
was
dying
Now
quietly
,
subtly
,
she
was
unravelling
the
tangle
of
his
consciousness
and
hers
,
breaking
the
threads
gently
,
one
by
one
,
with
patience
and
impatience
to
get
clear
.
But
the
bonds
of
such
love
are
more
ill
to
loose
even
than
most
bonds
;
though
Mrs
Bolton
’
s
coming
had
been
a
great
help
.
But
he
still
wanted
the
old
intimate
evenings
of
talk
with
Connie
:
talk
or
reading
aloud
.
But
now
she
could
arrange
that
Mrs
Bolton
should
come
at
ten
to
disturb
them
.
At
ten
o
’
clock
Connie
could
go
upstairs
and
be
alone
.
Clifford
was
in
good
hands
with
Mrs
Bolton
.
