Start Adult scene of lady chatterleys lover

Adult scene of lady chatterleys lover

She went quietly round to the back, where the bank rose up; she had an excuse, to see the daffodils. It was hardly making darkness among the oaks any more. But she was getting cold; yet the overwhelming inertia of her inner resentment kept her there as if paralysed. How ravished one could be without ever being touched.

She hated breaking the flowers, but she wanted just one or two to go with her. ‘I wondered what the hammering was,’ she said, feeling weak and breathless, and a little afraid of him, as he looked so straight at her. ‘Come and sit ’ere i’ th’ ’ut,’ he said, going in front of her to the hut, pushing aside some timber and stuff, and drawing out a rustic chair, made of hazel sticks. ’ he asked, with the curious naïveté of the dialect. The hut was quite cosy, panelled with unvarnished deal, having a little rustic table and stool beside her chair, and a carpenter’s bench, then a big box, tools, new boards, nails; and many things hung from pegs: axe, hatchet, traps, things in sacks, his coat.

She would have to go back to Wragby and its walls, and now she hated it, especially its thick walls. ‘Ah’m gettin’ th’ coops ready for th’ young bods,’ he said, in broad vernacular. It had no window, the light came in through the open door. In fact he was almost rude when I asked about a second key.’ ‘What did he say?

the thing to do was to pass the porches and the portals. It’s as your Ladyship likes an’ pleases, every time.

It, too, was caught and trying to tear itself free, the wind, like Absalom. But I can sit perfectly well under the porch, so please say no more about it.’ He looked at her again, with his wicked blue eyes. ‘Your Ladyship’s as welcome as Christmas ter th’ hut an’ th’ key an’ iverythink as is. An’ your Ladyship’d non want me tinkerin’ around an’ about when she was ’ere, all the time.’ She listened with a dim kind of amazement.

They shook their bright, sunny little rags in bouts of distress. A wet brown dog came running and did not bark, lifting a wet feather of a tail.

But perhaps they liked it really; perhaps they really liked the tossing. The man followed in a wet black oilskin jacket, like a chauffeur, and face flushed a little.

Connie was strangely excited in the wood, and the colour flew in her cheeks, and burned blue in her eyes. ‘’Appen yer’d better ’ave this key, an’ Ah min fend for t’ bods some other road.’ She looked at him. If yer want ter be ’ere, yo’ll non want me messin’ abaht a’ th’ time.’ She looked at him, getting his meaning through the fog of the dialect.

She walked ploddingly, picking a few primroses and the first violets, that smelled sweet and cold, sweet and cold. 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.

Mrs Bolton also kept a cherishing eye on Connie, feeling she must extend to her her female and professional protection. She wanted to forget, to forget the world, and all the dreadful, carrion-bodied people. When the crocus cometh forth I too will emerge and see the sun! You are Sir Clifford’s keeper, not mine.’ The phrase sounded queer, she didn’t know why.

She was always urging her ladyship to walk out, to drive to Uthwaite, to be in the air. ’ In the wind of March endless phrases swept through her consciousness.

It was a jumble, but also it was a sort of little sanctuary. ’ ‘Oh, nothing: just his manner; and he said he knew nothing about keys.’ ‘There may be one in Father’s study.