Page 179 - lady-chatterlys-lover

a little,’ she said.
’Just as you like. Not feeling really unwell, are you?’
’No! Only rather tired—with the spring. Will you have
Mrs Bolton to play something with you?’
’No! I think I’ll listen in.’
She heard the curious satisfaction in his voice. She went
upstairs to her bedroom. There she heard the loudspeak-
er begin to bellow, in an idiotically velveteen-genteel sort
of voice, something about a series of street-cries, the very
cream of genteel affectation imitating old criers. She pulled
on her old violet coloured mackintosh, and slipped out of
the house at the side door.
The drizzle of rain was like a veil over the world, myste-
rious, hushed, not cold. She got very warm as she hurried
across the park. She had to open her light waterproof.
The wood was silent, still and secret in the evening driz-
zle of rain, full of the mystery of eggs and half-open buds,
half unsheathed flowers. In the dimness of it all trees glis-
tened naked and dark as if they had unclothed themselves,
and the green things on earth seemed to hum with green-
ness.
There was still no one at the clearing. The chicks had
nearly all gone under the mother-hens, only one or two last
adventurous ones still dibbed about in the dryness under
the straw roof shelter. And they were doubtful of them-
selves.
So! He still had not been. He was staying away on pur-
pose. Or perhaps something was wrong. Perhaps she should
go to the cottage and see.

1 Lady Chatterly’s Lover