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2020-08-04 19:37:39  Դձ
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ݲƱַ:a g 9 559 v i p<`Very well, Sir Clifford.'She came very mute, with her long, handsome face, and downcast eyes, to administer to him. And she said very humbly: `Shall I do this now, Sir Clifford? Shall I do that?'

`The whole point about the sexual problem,' said Hammond, who was a tall thin fellow with a wife and two children, but much more closely connected with a typewriter, `is that there is no point to it. Strictly there is no problem. We don't want to follow a man into the w.c., so why should we want to follow him into bed with a woman? And therein liehe problem. If we took no more notice of the one thing than the other, there'd be no problem. It's all utterly senseless and pointless; a matter of misplaced curiosity.'

ݲƱ󷢣廭

`Yes?'

In 1916 Herbert Chatterley was killed, so Clifford became heir. He was terrified even of this. His importance as son of Sir Geoffrey, and child of Wragby, was so ingrained in him, he could never escape it. And yet he knew that this too, in the eyes of the vast seething world, was ridiculous. Now he was heir and responsible for Wragby. Was that not terrible? and also splendid and at the same time, perhaps, purely absurd?

There was something about him that Connie liked. He didn't put on airs to himself, he had no illusions about himself. He talked to Clifford sensibly, briefly, practically, about all the things Clifford wanted to know. He didn't expand or let himself go. He knew he had been asked down to Wragby to be made use of, and like an old, shrewd, almost indifferent business man, or big-business man, he let himself be asked questions, and he answered with as little waste of feeling as possible.

ݲƱ󷢣 ɻ

He pushed back his hat in an odd comic way.<`Bravo!' roared Charlie. `What do you think of Bolshevism?'

`Why, in God's name? I like Clifford, but what would you say if I went and kissed him?'

ݲƱ󷢣йҶ ۻ

`I only called with a message from Sir Clifford,' she said in her soft, rather breathless voice.

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<`How do you know I can? It may not suit the process of my mind. Marriage might...and would...stultify my mental processes. I'm not properly pivoted that way...and so must I be chained in a kennel like a monk? All rot and funk, my boy. I must live and do my calculations. I need women sometimes. I refuse to make a mountain of it, and I refuse anybody's moral condemnation or prohibition. I'd be ashamed to see a woman walking around with my name-label on her, address and railway station, like a wardrobe trunk.'`Not in my idea! Clifford should bring you to London, and let you go about. His sort of friends are all right for him, but what are they for you? If I were you I should think it wasn't good enough. You'll let your youth slip by, and you'll spend your old age, and your middle age too, repenting it.'

`Oh yes!' said Connie. But, as she said it she heard the eleven-o'clock hooters at Stacks Gate colliery. Clifford was too used to the sound to notice.

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`No?'

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(ࣺӱӱ)

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ݲƱųɵʳʧ¿ͻϻӽڿ޷ȡ He looked up at her with the full glance that saw everything, registered everything. At the same time, the infant crying in the night was crying out of his breast to her, in a way that affected her very womb. ϸ

99켯ŴʼһҵҼĻ| ̵2018|ܴӰ ɽ14ٲ·η

ݲƱ½Ʋܲ гλѡ Yet when those days of her grand joyful cheerfulness and stimulus were gone, quite gone, and she was depressed and irritable, how Clifford longed for them again! Perhaps if he'd known he might even have wished to get her and Michaelis together again. ϸ

ݲƱԴ仨人ԭײܶ϶SARS| ̵2018|͹״Ⱦײʵʱµͼ
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