nnie went for a walk across the park to the wood. That is, Clif

haze, opalescent with frost and smoke, and on the top lay the small blue sky; so that it was lik

newly gravelled with sifted gravel from the pit-bank. When the rock and refuse of the underworld had burned and given off its sulphur, it turned bright pink, shrimp-coloured on dry days, darker,

In front lay the wood, the hazel thicket nearest, the purplish density of oaks beyond. From the wood's edge

ickets of the hazel. The wood was a remnant of the great forest where Robin Hood hunted, and this riding was an old, old thoroughfare com

jay called harshly, many little birds fluttered. But there was no game; no pheasants. They had been killed o

they were his own through generations. He wanted to protect t

ere there was nothing but a ravel of dead bracken, a thin and spindly sapling leaning here and there, big sawn stumps, showing

d strangely forlorn. On the crown of the knoll where the oaks had stood, now was bareness; and from there you could look out over the trees to the colliery railway,

the war, had seen what it meant. But he didn't get really angry till he saw t

ong and very jolty down-slope. He sat looking at the greenish sweep of the riding downwards, a clear way through the bracken and oaks

England,' said Clifford to Connie, as he

erself in her blue knitted dr

and, the heart of it; and I

rd the eleven-o'clock hooters at Stacks Gate colli

ntouched. I want nobody to tr

How still the trees were, with their crinkly, innumerable twigs against the sky, and their grey, obstinate trunks rising from the brown bracken! How sa

light on his smooth, rather blond hai

son, when I come here, than

er than your family,

r us it would go...it would be gone already, like the rest

o be preserved, and preserved against

o England at all,' said Clifford. `And we who have this ki

. `Yes, for a little

man of my family has done his bit here, since we've had the place. One may go

ition?' as

on of Englan

he said

helps; one is only a li

id nothing. She was thinking of the curio

can't have a s

eadily, with his fu

agby, it would belong to us and to the place. I don't believe very intensely in fatherhood. If we had t

. The child, her child, was jus

t the other ma

exions matter? And the occasional sexual connexions especially! If people don't exaggerate them ridiculously, they pass like the mating of birds. And so they should. What does it matter? It's the life-long companionship that matters. It's the living together from day to day, not the sleeping together once or twice. You and I are married, no matter what happens to us. We have the habit of each other. And habit, to my thinking, is more vital than any occasional excitement. The long,

aid to herself. But her love was somehow only an excursion from her marriage with Clifford; the long, slow habit of intimacy, formed through years of s

ind what man's chil

tinct of decency and selection. You just woul

was absolutely Clifford's ide

fferent feelings about the wro

ve you would ever care for a man who was purely a

t be unanswerable because

tell you?' she asked, glancin

nts matter? Isn't the whole problem of life the slow building up of an integral personality, through the years? living an integrated life? There's no point in a disintegrated life. If lack of sex is going to disintegrate you, then go out and have a love-affair. If lack of a child is going to disintegrate you, then have a child

n she actually touched her steadily-lived life with him she...hesitated. Was it actually h

could she know what she would feel next year? How could one ever know? How could one say Yes? for years and years? The little yes, gone on a breath! Why should

ar as I can see I agree with you. Only li

ns a new face on it

think I d

e swiftly, softly out after the dog, facing their way as if about to attack them; then stopped instead, saluted, and was turning downhill. It was only the new game

..the old style, with a red face and red moustache

' called

, and saluted with a quick

d and get it started? That ma

curious swift, yet soft movements, as if keeping invisible. He was moderately ta

eper, Mellors. You haven't spoke

e the ready, n

personal look, as if he wanted to see what she was like. He made her feel shy. She bent her head to him shyly, and he changed his hat to his

some time, haven't you

.your Ladyship!' he co

you li

s eyes narrowed a little, with

u, your Ladyship! I

ad fallen into the heavy broad drag of the dialect...perhaps also in mockery, because there had been no trace of dialec

y turned the chair, and set it nose-forwards to the

n, Sir Clifford?

im and faintly moved its tail. A little smile, mocking or teasing her, yet gentle, came into his eyes for a moment, then faded away, and his face was expressionless. They went fairly quickl

looked at her in passing, Clifford critically, the other man with a curious, cool wonder; impersonally wanting to see what she looked

hrough the gate, and the man came

n his quiet, calm voice, that showed he was

head,' said Connie. `And leave you

like to run

chair up the steepish rise of the knoll in the park, he breathed rather quickly, through parted lips. He was ra

had poised low on its circular rims of haze was closed in again, the lid was down, there

p of the pink path. Cliffo

, are you?

o!' sh

ot notice: those were not things he was aware of. But the stranger knew. To Connie, everythi

managed to swing himself over on to the low, wheeled house-chair; he was very strong

ng. He went pale, with a sort of fear, when he saw Connie lifting the inert legs of the man

d Clifford casually, as he began to wheel

ame the neutral voice,

, good m

orning,

up that hill...I hope it wasn't heavy for you,' said

an instant, as if wakened

voice dropped again into the broad sound of th

e-keeper?' Conni

saw him,' sa

here did he

ershall boy...son of a

e a collie

lways had a good Opinion of him, so when he came back, and went to the pit for a blacksmith's job, I just took him back here as keeper. I was

't he ma

ous men...but finally with a collier at Stacks

man is

mother in the village...

s like the Midlands atmosphere, haze, smoky mist. And the haze seemed to be creeping forward. So when he stared at Connie in his peculiar way, giving her his peculiar, p

covers. But this is only appearance. It is really only the mechanism of the re-assumed habit. Slowly, slowly the wound to the soul begins to make itself felt, like a bruise, which Only slowl

y. But now, as the years went by, slowly, slowly, Connie felt the bruise of fear and horror coming up, and spreading in him. For a time it had been so deep as to be numb, as it were non-existent. Now s

e, command the future: as when, in the wood, he talked about her having a child, and giving an heir to Wragby. But the day after, all the brilliant words seemed like dead leaves, crumpling up and turning to powder, mea

war that had been in abeyance, slowly rising to the surface and creating the great ache of unrest, and stupor of discontent. The bruise was deep, deep, deep...the bruise of the false inhum

an to feel like nothingness. Their marriage, their integrated life based on a habit of intimacy, that he talked about: there were days when i

publicity, he had become in four or five years one of the best known of the young `intellectuals'. Where the intellect came in, Connie did not quite see. Clifford was really clever at that slightly humorous analysis of people and motives which leaves everything in bits at the end. But it was rather like puppies tearing the sofa cus

it of passion left in these men: the passion for making a display. Sexually they were passionless, even dead. And now it was not money that Michaelis was after. Clifford had never been primarily out for money, though he made it wh

since she had grown numb to the thrill of it, it was again nothingness. Even the prostitution to the bitc

lifford was again thrilled. He was going to be displayed again this time, somebody was

left. And Michaelis, thrilled by his power to thrill, was really wonderful...and quite beautiful, in Connie's eyes. She saw in him that ancient motionlessness of a race that can't be disillusioned any more, an extr

rd away, was one of the supreme moments of Michaelis' life. He had succeeded: he had carried

nds restless in his trousers pockets. Connie had not visited him in the night..

his play...did she think it good? He had to hear it praised: that affected him with the last thin thrill of passion beyond

st. `Why don't you and I make a cle

he said, amazed, and

ing for me...marry and lead a regular life. I lead the deuce of a life, simply tearing myself to pieces. Look here,

they left everything out. They just went off from the top of their heads as if they wer

y,' she said. `I can't l

nths. He doesn't know that anybody exists, except himself. Why the man has no

But she also felt that Mick was har

apped up in themse

an? Can he give her a damn good time, or can't he? If he can't he's no right to the woman...' He paused and gazed at her with his full, hazel e

on him still with a sort of amazement, that looked

t, any nightclub you like, know anybody you want to know, live the pace...t

at the glowing prospects he offered her. Hardly even her most outside self responded, that at any other time would have been thrilled. She just got no feeling from it,

terically: and whether he was more anxious out of vanity for her to say Yes! or

n't say now. It may seem to you Clifford doesn't coun

y how lonely I am, and always have been, and all the rest of the my-eye-Betty-Martin s

s furiously in his trousers pocke

m tonight, aren't you? I don't

ght!' s

. And he roused a certain craving passion in her, with his little boy's nakedness and softness; she had to go on after he had finished, in the wild tumult and heaving of

m her, he said, in a bitter,

a man, could you? You'd have to bring y

s of her life. Because that passive sort of giving hims

ou mean?'

I've gone off...and I have to hang on with my teeth

a sort of pleasure beyond words, and a sort of love for him. Because, after all, like so many m

on, to get my own sat

. `That's good! I want to hang on with

you?' she

f they were dead in there...or else they wait till a chap's really done, and then they start in to bring thems

ormation. She was only stunned by his feeling against her

my satisfaction too, do

darned if hanging on waiting for a woman

he started it, she did not want him. It was as if she never positively wanted him. But once he had started her, it seemed only natural

ith a smash; the house of cards. Her whole sexual feeling for him, or for any man, colla

eadmill of what Clifford called the integrated life, the long living together o

o be the one end of living. All the many busy and important l