There was a letter from Hilda on the breakfast-tray. `Father is going to London this week, and I shall call for you on Thursday week, June 17th. You must be ready so that we can go at once. I don't want to waste time at Wragby, it's an awful place. I shall probably stay the night at Retford with the Colemans, so I should be with you for lunch, Thursday. Then we could start at teatime, and sleep perhaps in Grantham. It is no use our spending an evening with Clifford. If he hates your going, it would be no pleasure to him.'
So! She was being pushed round on the chess-board again.

Clifford hated her going, but it was only because he didn't feel safe in her absence. Her presence, for some reason, made him feel safe, and free to do the things he was occupied with. He was a great deal at the pits, and wrestling in spirit with the almost hopeless problems of getting out his coal in the most economical fashion and then selling it when he'd got it out. He knew he ought to find some way of using it, or converting it, so that he needn't sell it, or needn't have the chagrin of failing to sell it. But if he made electric power, could he sell that or use it? And to convert into oil was as yet too costly and too elaborate. To keep industry alive there must be more industry, like a madness.

It was a madness, and it required a madman to succeed in it. Well, he was a little mad. Connie thought so. His very intensity and acumen in the affairs of the pits seemed like a manifestation of madness to her, his very inspirations were the inspirations of insanity.

He talked to her of all his serious schemes, and she listened in a kind of wonder, and let him talk. Then the flow ceased, and he turned on the loudspeaker, and became a blank, while apparently his schemes coiled on inside him like a kind of dream.

And every night now he played pontoon, that game of the Tommies, with Mrs Bolton, gambling with sixpences. And again, in the gambling he was gone in a kind of unconsciousness, or blank intoxication, or intoxication of blankness, whatever it was. Connie could not bear to see him. But when she had gone to bed, he and Mrs Bolton would gamble on till two and three in the morning, safely, and with strange lust. Mrs Bolton was caught in the lust as much as Clifford: the more so, as she nearly always lost.

She told Connie one day: `I lost twenty-three shillings to Sir Clifford last night.'

`And did he take the money from you?' asked Connie aghast.

`Why of course, my Lady! Debt of honour!'

Connie expostulated roundly, and was angry with both of them. The upshot was, Sir Clifford raised Mrs Bolton's wages a hundred a year, and she could gamble on that. Meanwhile, it seemed to Connie, Clifford was really going deader.

She told him at length she was leaving on the seventeenth.

`Seventeenth!' he said. `And when will you be back?'

`By the twentieth of July at the latest.'

`Yes! the twentieth of July.'

Strangely and blankly he looked at her, with the vagueness of a child, but with the queer blank cunning of an old man.

`You won't let me down, now, will you?' he said.

`How?'

`While you're away, I mean, you're sure to come back?'

`I'm as sure as I can be of anything, that I shall come back.'

`Yes! Well! Twentieth of July!'

He looked at her so strangely.

Yet he really wanted her to go. That was so curious. He wanted her to go, positively, to have her little adventures and perhaps come home pregnant, and all that. At the same time, he was afraid of her going.

She was quivering, watching her real opportunity for leaving him altogether, waiting till the time, herself himself should be ripe.

She sat and talked to the keeper of her going abroad.

`And then when I come back,' she said, `I can tell Clifford I must leave him. And you and I can go away. They never need even know it is you. We can go to another country, shall we? To Africa or Australia. Shall we?'

She was quite thrilled by her plan.

`You've never been to the Colonies, have you?' he asked her.

`No! Have you?'

`I've been in India, and South Africa, and Egypt.'

`Why shouldn't we go to South Africa?'

`We might!' he said slowly.

`Or don't you want to?' she asked.

`I don't care. I don't much care what I do.'

`Doesn't it make you happy? Why not? We shan't be poor. I have about six hundred a year, I wrote and asked. It's not much, but it's enough, isn't it?'

`It's riches to me.'

`Oh, how lovely it will be!'

`But I ought to get divorced, and so ought you, unless we're going to have complications.'

There was plenty to think about.

Another day she asked him about himself. They were in the hut, and there was a thunderstorm.

`And weren't you happy, when you were a lieutenant and an officer and a gentleman?'

`Happy? All right. I liked my Colonel.'

`Did you love him?'

`Yes! I loved him.'

`And did he love you?'

`Yes! In a way, he loved me.'

`Tell me about him.'

`What is there to tell? He had risen from the ranks. He loved the army. And he had never married. He was twenty years older than me. He was a very intelligent man: and alone in the army, as such a man is: a passionate man in his way: and a very clever officer. I lived under his spell while I was with him. I sort of let him run my life. And I never regret it.'

`And did you mind very much when he died?'

`I was as near death myself. But when I came to, I knew another part of me was finished. But then I had always known it would finish in death. All things do, as far as that goes.'

She sat and ruminated. The thunder crashed outside. It was like being in a little ark in the Flood.

`You seem to have such a lot behind you,' she said.

`Do I? It seems to me I've died once or twice already. Yet here I am, pegging on, and in for more trouble.'

She was thinking hard, yet listening to the storm.

`And weren't you happy as an officer and a gentleman, when your Colonel was dead?'

`No! They were a mingy lot.' He laughed suddenly. `The Colonel used to say: Lad, the English middle classes have to chew every mouthful thirty times because their guts are so narrow, a bit as big as a pea would give them a stoppage. They're the mingiest set of ladylike snipe ever invented: full of conceit of themselves, frightened even if their boot-laces aren't correct, rotten as high game, and always in the right. That's what finishes me up. Kow-tow, kow-tow, arse-licking till their tongues are tough: yet they're always in the right. Prigs on top of everything. Prigs! A generation of ladylike prigs with half a ball each---'

Connie laughed. The rain was rushing down.

`He hated them!'

`No,' said he. `He didn't bother. He just disliked them. There's a difference. Because, as he said, the Tommies are getting just as priggish and half-balled and narrow-gutted. It's the fate of mankind, to go that way.'

`The common people too, the working people?'

`All the lot. Their spunk is gone dead. Motor-cars and cinemas and aeroplanes suck that last bit out of them. I tell you, every generation breeds a more rabbity generation, with india rubber tubing for guts and tin legs and tin faces. Tin people! It's all a steady sort of bolshevism just killing off the human thing, and worshipping the mechanical thing. Money, money, money! All the modern lot get their real kick out of killing the old human feeling out of man, making mincemeat of the old Adam and the old Eve. They're all alike. The world is all alike: kill off the human reality, a quid for every foreskin, two quid for each pair of balls. What is cunt but machine-fucking!---It's all alike. Pay 'em money to cut off the world's cock. Pay money, money, money to them that will take spunk out of mankind, and leave 'em all little twiddling machines.'

He sat there in the hut, his face pulled to mocking irony. Yet even then, he had one ear set backwards, listening to the storm over the wood. It made him feel so alone.

`But won't it ever come to an end?' she said.

`Ay, it will. It'll achieve its own salvation. When the last real man is killed, and they're all tame: white, black, yellow, all colours of tame ones: then they'll all be insane. Because the root of sanity is in the balls. Then they'll all be insane, and they'll make their grand ~auto da fe. You know auto da fe means act of faith? Ay, well, they'll make their own grand little act of faith. They'll offer one another up.'

`You mean kill one another?'

`I do, duckie! If we go on at our present rate then in a hundred years' time there won't be ten thousand people in this island: there may not be ten. They'll have lovingly wiped each other out. The thunder was rolling further away.

`How nice!' she said.

`Quite nice! To contemplate the extermination of the human species and the long pause that follows before some other species crops up, it calms you more than anything else. And if we go on in this way, with everybody, intellectuals, artists, government, industrialists and workers all frantically killing off the last human feeling, the last bit of their intuition, the last healthy instinct; if it goes on in algebraical progression, as it is going on: then ta-tah! to the human species! Goodbye! darling! the serpent swallows itself and leaves a void, considerably messed up, but not hopeless. Very nice! When savage wild dogs bark in Wragby, and savage wild pit-ponies stamp on Tevershall pit-bank! te deum laudamus!'

Connie laughed, but not very happily.

`Then you ought to be pleased that they are all bolshevists,' she said. `You ought to be pleased that they hurry on towards the end.'

`So I am. I don't stop 'em. Because I couldn't if I would.'

`Then why are you so bitter?'

`I'm not! If my cock gives its last crow, I don't mind.'

`But if you have a child?' she said.

He dropped his head.

`Why,' he said at last. `It seems to me a wrong and bitter thing to do, to bring a child into this world.'

`No! Don't say it! Don't say it!' she pleaded. `I think I'm going to have one. Say you'll he pleased.' She laid her hand on his.

`I'm pleased for you to be pleased,' he said. `But for me it seems a ghastly treachery to the unborn creature.

`Ah no!' she said, shocked. `Then you can't ever really want me! You can't want me, if you feel that!'

Again he was silent, his face sullen. Outside there was only the threshing of the rain.

`It's not quite true!' she whispered. `It's not quite true! There's another truth.' She felt he was bitter now partly because she was leaving him, deliberately going away to Venice. And this half pleased her.

She pulled open his clothing and uncovered his belly, and kissed his navel. Then she laid her cheek on his belly and pressed her arm round his warm, silent loins. They were alone in the flood.

`Tell me you want a child, in hope!' she murmured, pressing her face against his belly. `Tell me you do!'

`Why!' he said at last: and she felt the curious quiver of changing consciousness and relaxation going through his body. `Why I've thought sometimes if one but tried, here among th' colliers even! They're workin' bad now, an' not earnin' much. If a man could say to 'em: Dunna think o' nowt but th' money. When it comes ter wants, we want but little. Let's not live for money---'

She softly rubbed her cheek on his belly, and gathered his balls in her hand. The penis stirred softly, with strange life, but did not rise up. The rain beat bruisingly outside.

`Let's live for summat else. Let's not live ter make money, neither for us-selves nor for anybody else. Now we're forced to. We're forced to make a bit for us-selves, an' a fair lot for th' bosses. Let's stop it! Bit by bit, let's stop it. We needn't rant an' rave. Bit by bit, let's drop the whole industrial life an' go back. The least little bit o' money'll do. For everybody, me an' you, bosses an' masters, even th' king. The least little bit o' money'll really do. Just make up your mind to it, an' you've got out o' th' mess.' He paused, then went on:

`An' I'd tell 'em: Look! Look at Joe! He moves lovely! Look how he moves, alive and aware. He's beautiful! An' look at Jonah! He's clumsy, he's ugly, because he's niver willin' to rouse himself I'd tell 'em: Look! look at yourselves! one shoulder higher than t'other, legs twisted, feet all lumps! What have yer done ter yerselves, wi' the blasted work? Spoilt yerselves. No need to work that much. Take yer clothes off an' look at yourselves. Yer ought ter be alive an' beautiful, an' yer ugly an' half dead. So I'd tell 'em. An' I'd get my men to wear different clothes: appen close red trousers, bright red, an' little short white jackets. Why, if men had red, fine legs, that alone would change them in a month. They'd begin to be men again, to be men! An' the women could dress as they liked. Because if once the men walked with legs close bright scarlet, and buttocks nice and showing scarlet under a little white jacket: then the women 'ud begin to be women. It's because th' men aren't men, that th' women have to be.---An' in time pull down Tevershall and build a few beautiful buildings, that would hold us all. An' clean the country up again. An' not have many children, because the world is overcrowded.

`But I wouldn't preach to the men: only strip 'em an' say: Look at yourselves! That's workin' for money!---Hark at yourselves! That's working for money. You've been working for money! Look at Tevershall! It's horrible. That's because it was built while you was working for money. Look at your girls! They don't care about you, you don't care about them. It's because you've spent your time working an' caring for money. You can't talk nor move nor live, you can't properly be with a woman. You're not alive. Look at yourselves!'

There fell a complete silence. Connie was half listening, and threading in the hair at the root of his belly a few forget-me-nots that she had gathered on the way to the hut. Outside, the world had gone still, and a little icy.

`You've got four kinds of hair,' she said to him. `On your chest it's nearly black, and your hair isn't dark on your head: but your moustache is hard and dark red, and your hair here, your love-hair, is like a little brush of bright red-gold mistletoe. It's the loveliest of all!'

He looked down and saw the milky bits of forget-me-nots in the hair on his groin.

`Ay! That's where to put forget-me-nots, in the man-hair, or the maiden-hair. But don't you care about the future?'

She looked up at him.

`Oh, I do, terribly!' she said.

`Because when I feel the human world is doomed, has doomed itself by its own mingy beastliness, then I feel the Colonies aren't far enough. The moon wouldn't be far enough, because even there you could look back and see the earth, dirty, beastly, unsavoury among all the stars: made foul by men. Then I feel I've swallowed gall, and it's eating my inside out, and nowhere's far enough away to get away. But when I get a turn, I forget it all again. Though it's a shame, what's been done to people these last hundred years: men turned into nothing but labour-insects, and all their manhood taken away, and all their real life. I'd wipe the machines off the face of the earth again, and end the industrial epoch absolutely, like a black mistake. But since I can't, an' nobody can, I'd better hold my peace, an' try an' live my own life: if I've got one to live, which I rather doubt.'

The thunder had ceased outside, but the rain which had abated, suddenly came striking down, with a last blench of lightning and mutter of departing storm. Connie was uneasy. He had talked so long now, and he was really talking to himself not to her. Despair seemed to come down on him completely, and she was feeling happy, she hated despair. She knew her leaving him, which he had only just realized inside himself had plunged him back into this mood. And she triumphed a little.

She opened the door and looked at the straight heavy rain, like a steel curtain, and had a sudden desire to rush out into it, to rush away. She got up, and began swiftly pulling off her stockings, then her dress and underclothing, and he held his breath. Her pointed keen animal breasts tipped and stirred as she moved. She was ivory-coloured in the greenish light. She slipped on her rubber shoes again and ran out with a wild little laugh, holding up her breasts to the heavy rain and spreading her arms, and running blurred in the rain with the eurhythmic dance movements she had learned so long ago in Dresden. It was a strange pallid figure lifting and falling, bending so the rain beat and glistened on the full haunches, swaying up again and coming belly-forward through the rain, then stooping again so that only the full loins and buttocks were offered in a kind of homage towards him, repeating a wild obeisance.

He laughed wryly, and threw off his clothes. It was too much. He jumped out, naked and white, with a little shiver, into the hard slanting rain. Flossie sprang before him with a frantic little bark. Connie, her hair all wet and sticking to her head, turned her hot face and saw him. Her blue eyes blazed with excitement as she turned and ran fast, with a strange charging movement, out of the clearing and down the path, the wet boughs whipping her. She ran, and he saw nothing but the round wet head, the wet back leaning forward in flight, the rounded buttocks twinkling: a wonderful cowering female nakedness in flight.

She was nearly at the wide riding when he came up and flung his naked arm round her soft, naked-wet middle. She gave a shriek and straightened herself and the heap of her soft, chill flesh came up against his body. He pressed it all up against him, madly, the heap of soft, chilled female flesh that became quickly warm as flame, in contact. The rain streamed on them till they smoked. He gathered her lovely, heavy posteriors one in each hand and pressed them in towards him in a frenzy, quivering motionless in the rain. Then suddenly he tipped her up and fell with her on the path, in the roaring silence of the rain, and short and sharp, he took her, short and sharp and finished, like an animal.

He got up in an instant, wiping the rain from his eyes.

`Come in,' he said, and they started running back to the hut. He ran straight and swift: he didn't like the rain. But she came slower, gathering forget-me-nots and campion and bluebells, running a few steps and watching him fleeing away from her.

When she came with her flowers, panting to the hut, he had already started a fire, and the twigs were crackling. Her sharp breasts rose and fell, her hair was plastered down with rain, her face was flushed ruddy and her body glistened and trickled. Wide-eyed and breathless, with a small wet head and full, trickling, na?ve haunches, she looked another creature.

He took the old sheet and rubbed her down, she standing like a child. Then he rubbed himself having shut the door of the hut. The fire was blazing up. She ducked her head in the other end of the sheet, and rubbed her wet hair.

`We're drying ourselves together on the same towel, we shall quarrel!' he said.

She looked up for a moment, her hair all odds and ends.

`No!' she said, her eyes wide. `It's not a towel, it's a sheet.' And she went on busily rubbing her head, while he busily rubbed his.

Still panting with their exertions, each wrapped in an army blanket, but the front of the body open to the fire, they sat on a log side by side before the blaze, to get quiet. Connie hated the feel of the blanket against her skin. But now the sheet was all wet.

She dropped her blanket and kneeled on the clay hearth, holding her head to the fire, and shaking her hair to dry it. He watched the beautiful curving drop of her haunches. That fascinated him today. How it sloped with a rich down-slope to the heavy roundness of her buttocks! And in between, folded in the secret warmth, the secret entrances!

He stroked her tail with his hand, long and subtly taking in the curves and the globe-fullness.

`Tha's got such a nice tail on thee,' he said, in the throaty caressive dialect. `Tha's got the nicest arse of anybody. It's the nicest, nicest woman's arse as is! An' ivery bit of it is woman, woman sure as nuts. Tha'rt not one o' them button-arsed lasses as should be lads, are ter! Tha's got a real soft sloping bottom on thee, as a man loves in 'is guts. It's a bottom as could hold the world up, it is!'

All the while he spoke he exquisitely stroked the rounded tail, till it seemed as if a slippery sort of fire came from it into his hands. And his finger-tips touched the two secret openings to her body, time after time, with a soft little brush of fire.

`An' if tha shits an' if tha pisses, I'm glad. I don't want a woman as couldna shit nor piss.'

Connie could not help a sudden snort of astonished laughter, but he went on unmoved.

`Tha'rt real, tha art! Tha'art real, even a bit of a bitch. Here tha shits an' here tha pisses: an' I lay my hand on 'em both an' like thee for it. I like thee for it. Tha's got a proper, woman's arse, proud of itself. It's none ashamed of itself this isna.'

He laid his hand close and firm over her secret places, in a kind of close greeting.

`I like it,' he said. `I like it! An' if I only lived ten minutes, an' stroked thy arse an' got to know it, I should reckon I'd lived one life, see ter! Industrial system or not! Here's one o' my lifetimes.'

She turned round and climbed into his lap, clinging to him. `Kiss me!' she whispered.

And she knew the thought of their separation was latent in both their minds, and at last she was sad.

She sat on his thighs, her head against his breast, and her ivory-gleaming legs loosely apart, the fire glowing unequally upon them. Sitting with his head dropped, he looked at the folds of her body in the fire-glow, and at the fleece of soft brown hair that hung down to a point between her open thighs. He reached to the table behind, and took up her bunch of flowers, still so wet that drops of rain fell on to her.

`Flowers stops out of doors all weathers,' he said. `They have no houses.'

`Not even a hut!' she murmured.

With quiet fingers he threaded a few forget-me-not flowers in the fine brown fleece of the mound of Venus.

`There!' he said. `There's forget-me-nots in the right place!'

She looked down at the milky odd little flowers among the brown maiden-hair at the lower tip of her body.

`Doesn't it look pretty!' she said.

`Pretty as life,' he replied.

And he stuck a pink campion-bud among the hair.

`There! That's me where you won't forget me! That's Moses in the bull-rushes.'

`You don't mind, do you, that I'm going away?' she asked wistfully, looking up into his face.

But his face was inscrutable, under the heavy brows. He kept it quite blank.

`You do as you wish,' he said.

And he spoke in good English.

`But I won't go if you don't wish it,' she said, clinging to him.

There was silence. He leaned and put another piece of wood on the fire. The flame glowed on his silent, abstracted face. She waited, but he said nothing.

`Only I thought it would be a good way to begin a break with Clifford. I do want a child. And it would give me a chance to, to---,' she resumed.

`To let them think a few lies,' he said.

`Yes, that among other things. Do you want them to think the truth?'

`I don't care what they think.'

`I do! I don't want them handling me with their unpleasant cold minds, not while I'm still at Wragby. They can think what they like when I'm finally gone.'

He was silent.

`But Sir Clifford expects you to come back to him?'

`Oh, I must come back,' she said: and there was silence.

`And would you have a child in Wragby?' he asked.

She closed her arm round his neck.

`If you wouldn't take me away, I should have to,' she said.

`Take you where to?'

`Anywhere! away! But right away from Wragby.'

`When?'

`Why, when I come back.'

`But what's the good of coming back, doing the thing twice, if you're once gone?' he said.

`Oh, I must come back. I've promised! I've promised so faithfully. Besides, I come back to you, really.'

`To your husband's game-keeper?'

`I don't see that that matters,' she said.

`No?' He mused a while. `And when would you think of going away again, then; finally? When exactly?'

`Oh, I don't know. I'd come back from Venice. And then we'd prepare everything.'

`How prepare?'

`Oh, I'd tell Clifford. I'd have to tell him.'

`Would you!'

He remained silent. She put her arms round his neck.

`Don't make it difficult for me,' she pleaded.

`Make what difficult?'

`For me to go to Venice and arrange things.'

A little smile, half a grin, flickered on his face.

`I don't make it difficult,' he said. `I only want to find out just what you are after. But you don't really know yourself. You want to take time: get away and look at it. I don't blame you. I think you're wise. You may prefer to stay mistress of Wragby. I don't blame you. I've no Wragbys to offer. In fact, you know what you'll get out of me. No, no, I think you're right! I really do! And I'm not keen on coming to live on you, being kept by you. There's that too.'

She felt somehow as if he were giving her tit for tat.

`But you want me, don't you?' she asked.

`Do you want me?'

`You know I do. That's evident.'

`Quite! And when do you want me?'

`You know we can arrange it all when I come back. Now I'm out of breath with you. I must get calm and clear.'

`Quite! Get calm and clear!'

She was a little offended.

`But you trust me, don't you?' she said.

`Oh, absolutely!'

She heard the mockery in his tone.

`Tell me then,' she said flatly; `do you think it would be better if I don't go to Venice?'

`I'm sure it's better if you do go to Venice,' he replied in the cool, slightly mocking voice.

`You know it's next Thursday?' she said.

`Yes!'

She now began to muse. At last she said:

`And we shall know better where we are when I come back, shan't we?'

`Oh surely!'

The curious gulf of silence between them!

`I've been to the lawyer about my divorce,' he said, a little constrainedly.

She gave a slight shudder.

`Have you!' she said. `And what did he say?'

`He said I ought to have done it before; that may be a difficulty. But since I was in the army, he thinks it will go through all right. If only it doesn't bring her down on my head!'

`Will she have to know?'

`Yes! she is served with a notice: so is the man she lives with, the co-respondent.'

`Isn't it hateful, all the performances! I suppose I'd have to go through it with Clifford.'

There was a silence.

`And of course,' he said, `I have to live an exemplary life for the next six or eight months. So if you go to Venice, there's temptation removed for a week or two, at least.'

`Am I temptation!' she said, stroking his face. `I'm so glad I'm temptation to you! Don't let's think about it! You frighten me when you start thinking: you roll me out flat. Don't let's think about it. We can think so much when we are apart. That's the whole point! I've been thinking, I must come to you for another night before I go. I must come once more to the cottage. Shall I come on Thursday night?'

`Isn't that when your sister will be there?'

`Yes! But she said we would start at tea-time. So we could start at tea-time. But she could sleep somewhere else and I could sleep with you.

`But then she'd have to know.'

`Oh, I shall tell her. I've more or less told her already. I must talk it all over with Hilda. She's a great help, so sensible.'

He was thinking of her plan.

`So you'd start off from Wragby at tea-time, as if you were going to London? Which way were you going?'

`By Nottingham and Grantham.'

`And then your sister would drop you somewhere and you'd walk or drive back here? Sounds very risky, to me.'

`Does it? Well, then, Hilda could bring me back. She could sleep at Mansfield, and bring me back here in the evening, and fetch me again in the morning. It's quite easy.'

`And the people who see you?'

`I'll wear goggles and a veil.'

He pondered for some time.

`Well,' he said. `You please yourself as usual.'

`But wouldn't it please you?'

`Oh yes! It'd please me all right,' he said a little grimly. `I might as well smite while the iron's hot.'

`Do you know what I thought?' she said suddenly. `It suddenly came to me. You are the "Knight of the Burning Pestle"!'

`Ay! And you? Are you the Lady of the Red-Hot Mortar?'

`Yes!' she said. `Yes! You're Sir Pestle and I'm Lady Mortar.'

`All right, then I'm knighted. John Thomas is Sir John, to your Lady Jane.'

`Yes! John Thomas is knighted! I'm my-lady-maiden-hair, and you must have flowers too. Yes!'

She threaded two pink campions in the bush of red-gold hair above his penis.

`There!' she said. `Charming! Charming! Sir John!'

And she pushed a bit of forget-me-not in the dark hair of his breast.

`And you won't forget me there, will you?' She kissed him on the breast, and made two bits of forget-me-not lodge one over each nipple, kissing him again.

`Make a calendar of me!' he said. He laughed, and the flowers shook from his breast.

`Wait a bit!' he said.

He rose, and opened the door of the hut. Flossie, lying in the porch, got up and looked at him.

`Ay, it's me!' he said.

The rain had ceased. There was a wet, heavy, perfumed stillness. Evening was approaching.

He went out and down the little path in the opposite direction from the riding. Connie watched his thin, white figure, and it looked to her like a ghost, an apparition moving away from her.

When she could see it no more, her heart sank. She stood in the door of the hut, with a blanket round her, looking into the drenched, motionless silence.

But he was coming back, trotting strangely, and carrying flowers. She was a little afraid of him, as if he were not quite human. And when he came near, his eyes looked into hers, but she could not understand the meaning.

He had brought columbines and campions, and new-mown hay, and oak-tufts and honeysuckle in small bud. He fastened fluffy young oak-sprays round her breasts, sticking in tufts of bluebells and campion: and in her navel he poised a pink campion flower, and in her maiden-hair were forget-me-nots and woodruff.

`That's you in all your glory!' he said. `Lady Jane, at her wedding with John Thomas.'

And he stuck flowers in the hair of his own body, and wound a bit of creeping-jenny round his penis, and stuck a single bell of a hyacinth in his navel. She watched him with amusement, his odd intentness. And she pushed a campion flower in his moustache, where it stuck, dangling under his nose.

`This is John Thomas marryin' Lady Jane,' he said. `An' we mun let Constance an' Oliver go their ways. Maybe---'

He spread out his hand with a gesture, and then he sneezed, sneezing away the flowers from his nose and his navel. He sneezed again.

`Maybe what?' she said, waiting for him to go on.

He looked at her a little bewildered.

`Eh?' he said.

`Maybe what? Go on with what you were going to say,' she insisted.

`Ay, what was I going to say?'

He had forgotten. And it was one of the disappointments of her life, that he never finished.

A yellow ray of sun shone over the trees.

`Sun!' he said. `And time you went. Time, my Lady, time! What's that as flies without wings, your Ladyship? Time! Time!'

He reached for his shirt.

`Say goodnight! to John Thomas,' he said, looking down at his penis. `He's safe in the arms of creeping Jenny! Not much burning pestle about him just now.'

And he put his flannel shirt over his head.

`A man's most dangerous moment,' he said, when his head had emerged, `is when he's getting into his shirt. Then he puts his head in a bag. That's why I prefer those American shirts, that you put on like a jacket.' She still stood watching him. He stepped into his short drawers, and buttoned them round the waist.

`Look at Jane!' he said. `In all her blossoms! Who'll put blossoms on you next year, Jinny? Me, or somebody else? "Good-bye, my bluebell, farewell to you!" I hate that song, it's early war days.' He then sat down, and was pulling on his stockings. She still stood unmoving. He laid his hand on the slope of her buttocks. `Pretty little Lady Jane!' he said. `Perhaps in Venice you'll find a man who'll put jasmine in your maiden-hair, and a pomegranate flower in your navel. Poor little lady Jane!'

`Don't say those things!' she said. `You only say them to hurt me.'

He dropped his head. Then he said, in dialect:

`Ay, maybe I do, maybe I do! Well then, I'll say nowt, an' ha' done wi't. But tha mun dress thysen, all' go back to thy stately homes of England, how beautiful they stand. Time's up! Time's up for Sir John, an' for little Lady Jane! Put thy shimmy on, Lady Chatterley! Tha might be anybody, standin' there be-out even a shimmy, an' a few rags o' flowers. There then, there then, I'll undress thee, tha bob-tailed young throstle.' And he took the leaves from her hair, kissing her damp hair, and the flowers from her breasts, and kissed her breasts, and kissed her navel, and kissed her maiden-hair, where he left the flowers threaded. `They mun stop while they will,' he said. `So! There tha'rt bare again, nowt but a bare-arsed lass an' a bit of a Lady Jane! Now put thy shimmy on, for tha mun go, or else Lady Chatterley's goin' to be late for dinner, an' where 'ave yer been to my pretty maid!'

She never knew how to answer him when he was in this condition of the vernacular. So she dressed herself and prepared to go a little ignominiously home to Wragby. Or so she felt it: a little ignominiously home.

He would accompany her to the broad riding. His young pheasants were all right under the shelter.

When he and she came out on to the riding, there was Mrs Bolton faltering palely towards them.

`Oh, my Lady, we wondered if anything had happened!'

`No! Nothing has happened.'

Mrs Bolton looked into the man's face, that was smooth and new-looking with love. She met his half-laughing, half-mocking eyes. He always laughed at mischance. But he looked at her kindly.

`Evening, Mrs Bolton! Your Ladyship will be all right now, so I can leave you. Good-night to your Ladyship! Good-night, Mrs Bolton!'

He saluted and turned away.

早餐的时候，一封希尔达的信放在托盘上。

“爸爸这个礼拜要到伦敦去，我将于六月十七日礼拜四那天到你那里。你得准备好，我们随即出发，我不想在勒格贝多留，那是个可怕的地方。我大概要在勒霍的高尔门家里过夜；所以我礼拜四便可到你那边午餐。我们在午后茶点的时候便启程，晚上或在格兰森宿一宵，和克利福过一个晚上是没有好处的。因为假如他不喜欢你走，那于他是没有趣的事。”

好！她又在棋盘上给人摆布着了。

克利福是大大不喜欢她走的，原因只是因为她走了，他便要觉得不“安全”。她在的时候，不知怎么的，他便觉得安全，便觉得可以自由自由地做他的事，他常到煤炕里去，勾心斗角地去求解决那些差不多不能解决的问题，如怎样用最经济的方法去采煤，然后出卖。他知道他应该找个方法去用自己的煤，或者把煤炼成其他的东西，这样他才不必拿出去卖，更不必为没有销路发愁，但是，假如他把煤变成了电力，他自己又用得着么，或卖得了么？至于把煤化成油，此刻还是件太花钱而且不容易的事，要维持工业的生命，便需要创造新的工业，那象是一种狂病。是的，那是一种狂病，非得一个狂人是成功不了的。

晤，他不是有点儿狂么？康妮这么想。她觉得他对于故务的热切和锐敏也是疯狂的表现；甚至他的感奋本身也是疯狂的感奋。

他对她说着他的伟大的计划，她只惊讶地听着，让他独自说去。一堆废话说完了后，他翻转头去听无线电放音机，失神似的一句话不说。无疑地，他的计划象梦一般的隐退了。

现在，每天晚上，他和波太太无实在丘八们所玩的“潘东”脾，并且是赌六便士的。在这方面他也是一样，他一边赌着，一边还迷失在一种无意识的境界里，或一种失神的沉醉里或沉醉的失神里，反正一样，康妮看了真觉难受。可是她回到楼上就寝以后，他和波太太有时还要赌到早上二三点，安然地，怪沉溺地赌。波太太溺命不亚于克利福；她越沉溺，她使差不多输得越多。

她有一天对康妮说：“那晚我输了二十三个先令给克利福男爵。”

“他受了你的钱么？康妮惊愕地问道。

“为什么，当然啊，夫人！那是荣誉债呢；”

康妮严历地遣责他们两个。结果是克利福把波太太的年薪加了一百镑；她赌的钱也有了。同时，康妮觉得克利福日见死气沉沉了。

她最后告诉他，她十七号便要走了。

“十七号！”他说，“什么时候回来？”

“最迟是七月二十号左右。”

他怪异地、失神地望着她，飘忽得象一个孩子似的，但又奸诡得象一个老人一样。

“你现在不会把我丢弃了吧，是不是？”他说。

“怎么？”

“当你走了以后，我的意思是说，你一定会回来吧？”

“比什么都一定，我将要回来的。”

“是的！好！七月二十！”

他很怪异地望着她。可是他实在是愿意她走的，那是奇怪的。他的确愿意她走，愿意她有点小浪漫史，也许她怀了个胎回来呢。而同时，她这一去，却又使他害怕……

她战栗着，她等待着完全脱离他的时间，等待着她自己、他自己的成熟。

她坐着，与守猎人谈起她的外出。

“那么当我回来的时候，我可以告诉克利福我要离开他。你和我便可以出走。他们决不必知道是和你走的，我们可以到外国去，是不是？到非洲去或澳洲去。你想怎样？”

她这个计划使他很兴奋。

“你从来没有到过殖民地去则不是？”他问道。

“没有！你呢？”

“我到过印度，南非和埃及。”

“为什么不让我们到南非去呢？”

“是的，为什么不？”他慢慢地说。

“也让你不想到那儿去罢？”她问道。

“那于我是无所谓的，怎样我都无所谓的。”

“那不便你快乐么？为什么不呢？我们不会穷的。我一年约莫有六百镑的入息，我已经写信去问过了，这数目并不多，但是也够了，是不是？”

“于我这是很富裕了。”

“啊，那时就快乐了！”

“可是我应该离了婚，而你也应该离了婚才行，否则我们便要有麻烦了。”’要考虑的事情有多着呢。

另一天，她问些关于他自己的事情。那时他们是在小屋里。外面正在雷雨交加。

“从前你是一位中尉，一位军官，而又是一位贵绅的那个时候，你是不是快乐的？”

“快乐？是的。我喜欢我的那位上校。”

“你爱他不？”

“是的，我爱他。”

“他呢，他爱你不？”

“是的！从某方面讲，他是爱我的。”

“说点他的事情我听罢。”

“有什么好说？他是行伍出身的。他爱军队生活。他没有结过婚。他比我大二十岁。他是个很聪明的人，在军队里很少与人往来，这种人便是这样的，他是个热情的人，并且是个很聪明的军官。我和他在一起的时候，我是在他的迷惑之下生活的。我让他指挥着我的生活，这点我是永久不会懊悔的。”

“他死了以后。你觉得很痛苦吧？”

“我自己都差不多死去了，但是当然恢复了原状时，我明白了我的一部分是死去了，但是我一向就知道那终是要一死了结的。其实，什么东西不终是一死了结！”

她沉思着。外面雷声轰响。他们好象是在一只烘芒时代的巨舟内。’

“你的过去好象有无限的事。”她说。

“是么？我觉得我已经死过一两次了，可是结果我还在这儿偷生着，而且准备接受种种烦恼。”

“你的上校死了以后，你觉得你的军官和贵绅的生活是幸福的么？”

“不！我的同僚们都是一些蠢才。”他突然笑了起来，“上校常常说：孩子哟，英国的中等级的人每口东西都得咀嚼三十回，因为，他们的食道太狭，只要一粒小豆子便要把他们窒塞。他们都是一些女性的可怜虫，虚荣而骄傲，甚至鞋带松了也要大惊小怪的。他们腐烂的象猫兽的肉，而且常常是自以为对的。我之所以不上进也便为此，这些磕头，磕头，舐屁股舐到舌硬了的东西，常常是自以为对的。他们尤其是些装模作样假道学，假道学！全是些只有半个睾丸的女性的假道学。每个——”

康妮笑了起来，外面的雨在倾盆地下着。

“他恨他们！”

“不！”他说，“他是不屑去根他们的，他只是讨厌他们罢了，那是有个分别的。因为，据他说，连丘八们现在都变成一样假道学，一样半塞丸，一样食道狭小的人了。这种情形是人类的命运。”

“晋通的群众，工人们，也一样么？”。

“一模一样，他们的血气都死了。他们所剩下的一点，都给汽车、电影院和飞机吮吸了，相信我：一代人比一代人更不象样了，食道是橡胶管做的，脸和两腿是马口铁做的，这是马口铁做的群众！一种牢固的波尔雪维克主义正在消灭着有人性的东西，而崇拜着机械的东西。金钱，金钱，金钱！所有现代的人只有个主意，使是把人类古老的人性的感情消灭掉，把从前的恶当和大显身夏娃切成肉装酱。他们都是！样，世界随处都是一栗：把人性的真实性杀了，每条阴茎一金镑，每对睾丸两金镑！什么是‘孔’，还不是性交的工具！随处都是一样。给他们钱，叫他们去把世界的阳具割了。绘他们钱，钱，钱，叫他们人类的血气消灭掉，只剩下一些站立不稳的小机械。”

他从城那小屋里，脸上笼罩着讥讽的神气，虽然是这样，他还留亲戚一只耳朵听着外面林中的暴风雨声，那暴风雨声使他觉得非常孤寂起来。

“但是，那一切不会有个了结么？”她说。

“是的，当然，世界将会自己解救出来，当最后的一个真正的人被消灭了以后，当所有的人都被驯服了，自种人、黑种人、黄种人，各色人种都成了驯服的畜生，那么一切都会痴愚起来。因为健全的心地是植根于荤丸之内的。他们都将痴愚起来，并且将举行伟大的火焚刑。你知道‘火焚刑’便是一种‘宗教仪式’么？好，他们将举行他们伟大的宗教仪式；他们将互相成为献祭品。”

“你的意思是说他们将互相残杀么？”

“是的，亲有宾！要是我们照现在这样生活下去，那么在百年以内，这岛上的人民将不到一万也许不是十个，他们将斯文一互相销毁。”隆隆的雷声渐渐地远了。

“那时多可爱！”她说。

“可爱极了！莫想着人类之消灭和消灭后其他的物类未产生以前的空洞，那是最足以静人心气的事情。要是我们这样继续下去，要是所有的人，知识分子，艺术家，统治者，工业家，工人，都继续着癫狂地消灭他们最后的有人性的感情，最后的一点直觉最后的的健全的本能；要是这样代数式的一步一步地继续下去，那么，人类便要休了！再见，爱人；蛇把自己蚕咽了而剩下一个空，乱纷纷的，但是并不是无望。可爱极了！一些凶悍的野狗将在勒格贝屋里面狂吠，一些凶悍的野马将在达娃斯哈的煤坑边践踏！tedeunlaudamns！”

康妮笑了起来，但不是很快乐的笑。

“他们既都是波尔雪维克主义者，那么你应该高兴了吧？你定觉得高兴地看着他们急忙忙地向着末日走去吧！”

“的确！我不阻止他们，因为我虽想阻止他们也做不到。”

“那么，为什么你这样悲伤呢？”

“我并不悲伤！要是我的雄鸡作最后一次的啼喔，我也无所谓。”

“但是假如你有个孩子呢？”她说。

他低着头。

“怎么，”他终于说：“我觉得在这种世界中让一个孩子出世，是件廖误而悲伤的事。

“不！不要这样说！不要这样说！”她恳求道，“我相信我要有个孩子了。告诉我你将快活吧。”她的手放在他的手上。

“你既觉得快活，我是快活的。”他说，“不地我却以为那是怪对不住那孩子的事。”

“啊！不！”她愤激地说，“那足见你不真正要我！如果这有这种感觉，你不能真正要我的。”

他重新静默起来，脸孔沉郁着，外边只剩下雨打的声音了。

“我不太承认这话，”他低声地说，“我不太承认这话。我有我的苦衷。”她觉得他此刻所以悲伤的缘故，一部分是因为她要到威尼斯去了。这是使她高兴的。

她把他的衣服拉开了，露出了他的小腹，她在他的肚脐上吻了一吻。然后她把脸颊依在他的小腹上，两臂环抱着他温暖而静艄的腰。他们在这洪荒世界中孤寂着。

“告诉我你实在想有一个孩子，你期待着！”她喃喃地说，她的脸孔在他的小腹上压着。“告诉我你想吧！”

“嗨！”他最后含糊地说。她感觉得到那奇异的意识的转变与松懈，颤战着穿透他的身体。“我有时想，’假如有人能在这儿的矿工们中间试一试！他们现在没有什么工作，而且人息又不多，假如有人能够对他们说：想想旁的事情去吧，不要光想钱了。假如只是为了需要。我们所需要的并不多。让我们不要为金钱而生话吧。……”

她的脸颊温柔地磨着他的小腹，并且把他的睾丸托在手里。柔柔地，那阴茎在颤动着，但没有坚挺起来，雨在外面急打着。

“让我们为旁的东西而生活。我们的唯一目的不要为找钱，无论为自己或为他人找钱。现在，我们是迫不得已：我们不得不替自己找一点点我一，而替主人找一大堆。让我们制止这种情境罢！一步一步地让我们制止着罢。我们不必狂暴。一步一步地，让我们把整个工业生活丢弃而到后面去。我金钱，只要一点点便行了。其实，无论谁，你与我，工头主子们，甚至国王，只要一点点金钱便行了。只要有决心，你便可以从这纷乱中跳了出来。”他停了一会，然后继续道：

“我将对他们说：瞧罢！瞧瞧老周！他一举一动多可爱！又生动又灵敏。他多美丽！再瞧瞧老张！他又笨又丑，那是因为他从不愿激励起来，现在瞧瞧你们自己罢！一肩高一肩低的，两腿弯曲，两脚弯曲，两腿走了样。你们做了什么来，你们的劳作使你们变成怎么了？你们把自己弄坏了。不必做那么多的工呢。把衣服脱了瞧瞧你们自己吧。你们本应当有生气而美丽的，而你们却是丑陋而死半死。我将这样告诉他们。而且我要使人们穿上另一件小而短的白衫。啊，假如男子们有了红色的漂亮的两腿，单这个使足以使他们在一个月内改变了。他们将重新变成真正的人，真正的人！女人们呢，她们要怎样穿便怎样穿。因为男了们一旦用那鲜红的两腿走起路来，短小的白衫后面，露着那可人的鲜红的屁股的时候，那时女人们便也要变成真正的女人了。那有因为男子不成男子，所以女人才不成女人。……然后，把达娃斯哈消灭了，而建筑几座美丽的建筑，以收容我们大家。再来把国爱各处收拾个干净。可是不要多生孩子，因为世界已经人口过剩了。

“但是我却不向人们说教；我只把他们的衣服剥去了，说：瞧瞧你们自己罢！这便是为金钱而工作的结果！瞧瞧！这便是为金钱而工作的结果！你们一向是为了金钱而工作时建立“起来的，瞧瞧你会的女人！她们不在乎你们。你们也不在乎她们。那是因为你们的时间只用在工作上和金钱的打算上。你们不能说话，不能活动，不能生活，你们不能和一个女人好好地在一起，你不能生活着，瞧瞧你自己罢！”

跟着是一阵死寂。康妮半听着，一边把她到小屋里来时在路上所采的几朵毋忘我，结在他小腹下的毛丛里，外面已变成静温而有点寒冷了。

“你有四样的毛，”她对他说。“你胸膛上的差不是黑色，你的头发是浅色，但是你的髭须是粗而深红，而你这儿的毛，爱情的毛，却象是一丛光耀的金红的芋刺，这是最好看的毛。”

他俯头望着，看见几朵乳白色的戎忘我在他胜利下的毛丛里。

“暖！这阴毛里正是个放勿忘我的好地方。但是，难道你不关心未来么？”

“啊，我实在关心得很呢！”她望着他说。

“因为当我觉得人类的卑鄙龌龊到了无可救药的时候，我便觉得殖民地并不怎么远。甚至月亮也并不怎么远。因为在那儿，你回转头来便看得见杂在繁星之中的世界，又肮脏，又残忍，又乏味；被人类弄成卑鄙秽了。那时我觉得吞了一块胆，一肚子苦结着，只要有可以逃避的地方，无论哪里都不会怎么远。但是当我找到了个工作做着的时候，我却忘记了这一切，虽然，最近百年来，一部分人对于群众的行为是可耻的：人变成工作的昆虫了，他们所有的勇气，他们所有的真正生活，都被剥夺了，我定要把地球上的机器扫个干净，绝’对地了结了工业的时代，好象了结了一个黑暗的错误一样，但是我既不能，并且也没有人能，我只好静静地过我的生活一假如我有生活可过的话，这倒是使我有时怀疑的。”

外面的雷声已停止了。但是雨却又倾盆地下起来，天上闪着最后的电光，还有一二声远远的沉墨，康妮觉得不太高兴地滔滔地说了这一大雄话而事实上只是对他自已说的，并不是对她说的。他仿佛给失望完全占据着了，面她呢，却觉得快铄，而憎恨失望。她知道他之所以重陷在这种心境里，是因为她要离开他了。是因为他心里刚刚体味了那种离情。她觉得几分得意起来。

她把门打开了，望着外面的滂沱大雨，象一张钢幕似的。蓦然地她生了一个欲望，欲望着向这雨里飞奔，飞奔而去。她站了起来，急忙忙地脱掉了她的袜子，然后脱掉她的衣裳和内衣；他屏息望着她。她的尖尖的两只乳房，随着她一举一动而颤摆着。在那苍茫的光线里，她是象牙色的，她穿上了她的橡胶鞋，发了一声野性的痴笑，跑了出去，向着大雨挺着两乳，展着两臂朦胧地在雨里跳着她多年前在代斯德所学的谐和的舞蹈。那是个奇异的灰影，高着，低着，弯曲着，雨向她淋着，在她饱满的臀上发着亮，她重新起舞着，小腹向前在雨中前进，重又弯身下去，因此只见她的臀和腰向他呈献着，好象向他呈献着一种臣服之礼，一种野性的礼拜。

他痴笑着，把他自己的衣服也脱了。那是令人难忍的！他裸着白析的身体，有点田战着，向那急雨里奔了出去。佛萝西狂吠着飞跃在他的前头。康妮，湿透了的头发粘在她的头上，她回转了温热热的脸，看见了他。她的蓝色的眼睛，兴奋地闪着光，她奇异地开步向前狂奔，跑进林中的小径上，湿树枝儿绊打着她。她奔窜着，他只看得见一个圆而湿的头，一个湿的背脊，在逃遁中向前倾着，圆满的臀部闪着光，一个惊遁的妇人的美妙的裸体。

她差不多要到那条大马路上去了，然后他才赶到了，赤裸裸的两臂抱着她，抱着她温软的、赤裸裸的腰身。她叫了一声，伸直着身体，把她整个柔软而寒冷的肉体，投在他的怀里。他癫狂地紧楼着，这柔软而寒冷的女性的肉，在交触里，瞬即变成火一般的暖热了。在雨倾盆地琳着他们，直至他们的肉体冒着蒸气。他把她可爱的沉重的两乳握在两手里，并且狂乱地紧压在他自己身上，在雨中战栗着，静默着，然后，突然地把她抱了起了，和她倒在那小径上，在雨声怒号的静谧中，迅速地，猛烈地，他占有了她，迅速地、猛烈地完毕，好象一只野兽似的。

他立即站丁起来，揩着眼上的雨水。

“回去。”他说：于是他们向着小屋奔去。他迅疾地一直走着：他不喜欢给雨打着。可是他却走得慢，采着毋忘我、野蝴蝶花和圆叶风铃草。走了几步，然后又停下来望着他走远丁

当她带着花，喘着气回到小屋里去时，她看见炉火已经燃上了，柴校在避拍地响着。她的尖尖的乳房，一高一低地荡动着，她的湿头发紧粘在她的头上，面孔鲜红，通身光亮。她圆睁的眼睛，喘着气，湿了的小小的头儿，饱满而天真的滴着水的臀部，她看起来象是另一个人似的。

他取了张旧床布，从上至下擦着她，她象个孩子似的站着不动。然后，他把屋门关上了，再擦着他自己。炉火里火焰高冒着。她把床布一端包着她的头在擦着她的湿发。

“我们共用一条毛巾揩擦：这是吵嘴的预兆！”他说。

她向他望了一会，她的头发是乱莲蓬的。

“不！”她说，圆睁着眼睛，“这并不是一条毛巾，这是一张床布呢。”

他们俩继续着忙碌地擦着头，刚才的那番运动，使他们还在喘息不休。他们各披了一张军，露着前身向着火，在火焰前一块大木头上并排地坐着静愁。康妮嫌恶那毡子披在皮肤上的感觉：不过床布又已经全湿了。

她把毡子摆脱了，跪在炉火面前，伸着头在摇着，使头发干起来，他默望着她臀部的美丽的下垂曲线，他今天所心醉的就是那个。这曲线多么富丽地下垂到她沉重而圆满的两股上！

在这两股间，深隐一神秘的温热中，便是那神秘的进口！

他用手在她的背后爱抚着，缓缓地，微妙地，爱抚她臀部的曲线和饱满。

“您这后面多美丽，”他用那带喉音的、爱怜的土话的：“那是人间最美丽的臀儿！那是最美丽的女人的臀儿！那上面一分一毫都是女人，纯粹的女人！您并不是那种臀儿钮扣似的女儿，她们该是些男孩子。可不是！您有一个真正的、柔软的、下倾的后臀，那是男子们所爱而使他们动心的东西，那是个可以负担世界的臀儿。”

他一边说，一边轻柔地爱抚着那圆满的后部，直至他觉得仿佛一种蔓延的火热，从那儿传到了他的手上，他的指尖触着了她身上的那两个秘密的孔儿，他用一种火似的拂掠的动作，摸了这个又摸那个。

“假如你撤点尿或拉点尿，我是高兴的。我不要一个不能拉屎的女人。”

康妮忍不住骤然地、惊愕地狂笑起来。但是他却不理她，继续着说：

“您是真实的！啊！是！您是真实的，甚至有点儿淫野。这儿是您撤尿的地方，这儿是您拉屎的地方；我一只手儿盖着两处，我爱您这一切您有着一个的真正臀儿，怪骄傲的。它的确是可以骄傲面无愧的。”

他的手紧紧地压在她那两个秘密的地方，好象表示一种亲切的问候。

“我爱它！”他说：“我爱它！假如我只有十分钟的命，可以去爱抚您这个臀儿，去认识它，我定要承认我活了一世了！您不明白？管什么工业制度！这是我生命中的一个伟大的日子。”

她回转身去，爬在他的膝上，紧依着他。

“亲吻我罢！她细声说；

她明白了他俩的心里都带着离情别意，最后她觉得悲伤起来了。一

她坐在他的大腿上，她的头依着他的胸膛。她象牙似的光耀的两腿，懒慵慵地分开着；炉里的火光参差地照着他们。仓他俯着头，在那火光里，望着她的肉体的折纹，望着她开着的两腿阐那褐色的阴毛。他伸手在后面桌上把刚才她采来。的花拿了，这花还是湿的，几滴雨水滴在她的身上。

“这些花儿，刮风下雨都在外头，”他说：“它们都是没有家的。”

“甚至没有一间小屋！”她哺哺地说。

他用幽静的手指，批把几朵毋忘我花结在她那爱神山上的美丽的褐毛毛丛里。

“那儿！”，他说，“那儿使是毋忘我应该在的地方！”

她俯视着那些乳白色的小怪花儿，杂在她下身的褐色的阴毛丛里。

“多么好看地！”她说。

“好看得同生命一样。”她答道。

他在那毛丛里添了一朵粉红色的野蝴蝶花的花蕾。

“那儿！那代表我，站在您这毋忘我的地方！那是荒苇丛中的摩西。”

“我要离开你了，你不反对罢，是不是？”她不安地问道，仰望着他的脸。

在那沉重的两眉下面，他的脸是失神的，不可思仪的。

“你有你的自由。”他说。

他说起正确的英语来了。

“但是假如你不愿意我走的话，我便不走好了。”她紧依着他说。

两人静默了。他俯着身在火上添了一块柴。火焰光耀着他静默而沉思的脸孔。她等着，但是他不说什么。

“不地这，我觉得那便是和克利福断绝的第一步。罗真想有个孩子。那给我一个机会去，去……”她正要说下去。

“去使我们相信一些谎话。”他说。

“是的，那也是事情的一种。难道你要他们知道真话么？”

“他们相信什么我是不关心的。”

“我却不然！我不愿创作他们用冰冷的心肠来对待我；至少是当我还在勒格贝的时候，当我决绝地走开了的时候，他们爱怎么想便可以怎么想了。”

他静默着。

“但是克利福男爵希望你一定要回来的么？”

“啊，我得回来的。”她说，两人又静默起来。

“孩子呢，在勒格贝生么？”他问道。

她的手臂紧揽着他的颈项。

“假如你不愿带我走的话，便不得不了。”她说。

“带你到哪儿去呢？”

”哪儿都好！只要远远地远远地离开勒格贝。”

“什么时候？”

“怎么、当我回来的时候呀。”

“但是你走了何必又回来呢？何必一件事分两次做呢？”他说。

啊，我得回来的。我已经答应过了！我已经忠诚地答应过了。不过，其实我是为了你而回来的。”

“为了你的丈夫的守猎人而回来？”

“那又有什么关系呢？”她说。

“真的？”他沉思了一会，“那么你想什么时候决然再走呢？确定一个日子。”

“啊，我不知道，当我从威尼期回来以后，我们再准备一切。”

“怎样准备！”

“啊，我将一切都告诉克利福。我不得不告诉他。”

“真的！”

他静默的。她的两臂紧紧地环抱着他的颈项。

“不要把事情弄得使我为难吧！”她恳求道。

“把什么事情弄得使你为难？”

“我得动身到威尼斯去和以后应该安排的事情。”

他的脸上露着一种半苦笑的微笑。

“我不会把事情弄得使你为难的。”他说，“我只想知道你究竟抱的什么目的。可是你自己实际上也不知道。你只想延迟一下。走到远处去把事情端详一下。我并不责备炼，我相信这是聪明的手段。你尽可以依旧做勒贝的主妇。我并不责备你的，我没有勒格贝来呈献给你