Page 136 - lady-chatterlys-lover

ished 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 be-
ing 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 oil-
skin 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.
’Was yer waitin’ to get in?’ he asked, looking at the hut,
not at her.
’No, I only sat a few minutes in the shelter,’ she said, with
quiet dignity.
He looked at her. She looked cold.
’Sir Clifford ‘adn’t got no other key then?’ he asked.
’No, but it doesn’t matter. I can sit perfectly dry under
this porch. Good afternoon!’ She hated the excess of ver-
nacular in his speech.
He watched her closely, as she was moving away. Then

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