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- Дэвид Герберт Лоуренс
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- Любовник леди Чаттерлей
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- Стр. 83/388
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Till
she
came
to
the
clearing
,
at
the
end
of
the
wood
,
and
saw
the
green
-
stained
stone
cottage
,
looking
almost
rosy
,
like
the
flesh
underneath
a
mushroom
,
its
stone
warmed
in
a
burst
of
sun
.
And
there
was
a
sparkle
of
yellow
jasmine
by
the
door
;
the
closed
door
.
But
no
sound
;
no
smoke
from
the
chimney
;
no
dog
barking
.
She
went
quietly
round
to
the
back
,
where
the
bank
rose
up
;
she
had
an
excuse
,
to
see
the
daffodils
.
And
they
were
there
,
the
short
-
stemmed
flowers
,
rustling
and
fluttering
and
shivering
,
so
bright
and
alive
,
but
with
nowhere
to
hide
their
faces
,
as
they
turned
them
away
from
the
wind
.
They
shook
their
bright
,
sunny
little
rags
in
bouts
of
distress
.
But
perhaps
they
liked
it
really
;
perhaps
they
really
liked
the
tossing
.
Constance
sat
down
with
her
back
to
a
young
pine
-
tree
,
that
swayed
against
her
with
curious
life
,
elastic
,
and
powerful
,
rising
up
.
The
erect
,
alive
thing
,
with
its
top
in
the
sun
!
And
she
watched
the
daffodils
turn
golden
,
in
a
burst
of
sun
that
was
warm
on
her
hands
and
lap
.
Even
she
caught
the
faint
,
tarry
scent
of
the
flowers
.
And
then
,
being
so
still
and
alone
,
she
seemed
to
bet
into
the
current
of
her
own
proper
destiny
.
She
had
been
fastened
by
a
rope
,
and
jagging
and
snarring
like
a
boat
at
its
moorings
;
now
she
was
loose
and
adrift
.
The
sunshine
gave
way
to
chill
;
the
daffodils
were
in
shadow
,
dipping
silently
.
So
they
would
dip
through
the
day
and
the
long
cold
night
.
So
strong
in
their
frailty
!
She
rose
,
a
little
stiff
,
took
a
few
daffodils
,
and
went
down
.
She
hated
breaking
the
flowers
,
but
she
wanted
just
one
or
two
to
go
with
her
.
She
would
have
to
go
back
to
Wragby
and
its
walls
,
and
now
she
hated
it
,
especially
its
thick
walls
.
Walls
!
Always
walls
!
Yet
one
needed
them
in
this
wind
.
When
she
got
home
Clifford
asked
her
:
’
Where
did
you
go
?
’
