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- Дэвид Герберт Лоуренс
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- Любовник леди Чаттерлей
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- Стр. 95/388
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How
she
hated
words
,
always
coming
between
her
and
life
:
they
did
the
ravishing
,
if
anything
did
:
ready
-
made
words
and
phrases
,
sucking
all
the
life
-
sap
out
of
living
things
.
The
walk
with
Clifford
was
not
quite
a
success
.
Between
him
and
Connie
there
was
a
tension
that
each
pretended
not
to
notice
,
but
there
it
was
.
Suddenly
,
with
all
the
force
of
her
female
instinct
,
she
was
shoving
him
off
.
She
wanted
to
be
clear
of
him
,
and
especially
of
his
consciousness
,
his
words
,
his
obsession
with
himself
,
his
endless
treadmill
obsession
with
himself
,
and
his
own
words
.
The
weather
came
rainy
again
.
But
after
a
day
or
two
she
went
out
in
the
rain
,
and
she
went
to
the
wood
.
And
once
there
,
she
went
towards
the
hut
.
It
was
raining
,
but
not
so
cold
,
and
the
wood
felt
so
silent
and
remote
,
inaccessible
in
the
dusk
of
rain
.
She
came
to
the
clearing
.
No
one
there
!
The
hut
was
locked
.
But
she
sat
on
the
log
doorstep
,
under
the
rustic
porch
,
and
snuggled
into
her
own
warmth
.
So
she
sat
,
looking
at
the
rain
,
listening
to
the
many
noiseless
noises
of
it
,
and
to
the
strange
soughings
of
wind
in
upper
branches
,
when
there
seemed
to
be
no
wind
.
Old
oak
-
trees
stood
around
,
grey
,
powerful
trunks
,
rain
-
blackened
,
round
and
vital
,
throwing
off
reckless
limbs
.
The
ground
was
fairly
free
of
undergrowth
,
the
anemones
sprinkled
,
there
was
a
bush
or
two
,
elder
,
or
guelder
-
rose
,
and
a
purplish
tangle
of
bramble
:
the
old
russet
of
bracken
almost
vanished
under
green
anemone
ruffs
.
Perhaps
this
was
one
of
the
unravished
places
.
Unravished
!
The
whole
world
was
ravished
.
Some
things
can
’
t
be
ravished
.
You
can
’
t
ravish
a
tin
of
sardines
.
And
so
many
women
are
like
that
;
and
men
.
But
the
earth
.
.
.
!
The
rain
was
abating
.
It
was
hardly
making
darkness
among
the
oaks
any
more
.
Connie
wanted
to
go
;
yet
she
sat
on
.
But
she
was
getting
cold
;
yet
the
overwhelming
inertia
of
her
inner
resentment
kept
her
there
as
if
paralysed
.
Ravished
!
How
ravished
one
could
be
without
ever
being
touched
.
Ravished
by
dead
words
become
obscene
,
and
dead
ideas
become
obsessions
.
A
wet
brown
dog
came
running
and
did
not
bark
,
lifting
a
wet
feather
of
a
tail
.
The
man
followed
in
a
wet
black
oilskin
jacket
,
like
a
chauffeur
,
and
face
flushed
a
little
.
She
felt
him
recoil
in
his
quick
walk
,
when
he
saw
her
.
She
stood
up
in
the
handbreadth
of
dryness
under
the
rustic
porch
.
He
saluted
without
speaking
,
coming
slowly
near
.
She
began
to
withdraw
.
’
I
’
m
just
going
,
’
she
said
.
