Page 180 - lady-chatterlys-lover

But she was born to wait. She opened the hut with her
key. It was all tidy, the corn put in the bin, the blankets fold-
ed on the shelf, the straw neat in a corner; a new bundle of
straw. The hurricane lamp hung on a nail. The table and
chair had been put back where she had lain.
She sat down on a stool in the doorway. How still ev-
erything was! The fine rain blew very softly, filmily, but the
wind made no noise. Nothing made any sound. The trees
stood like powerful beings, dim, twilit, silent and alive.
How alive everything was!
Night was drawing near again; she would have to go. He
was avoiding her.
But suddenly he came striding into the clearing, in his
black oilskin jacket like a chauffeur, shining with wet. He
glanced quickly at the hut, half-saluted, then veered aside
and went on to the coops. There he crouched in silence,
looking carefully at everything, then carefully shutting the
hens and chicks up safe against the night.
At last he came slowly towards her. She still sat on her
stool. He stood before her under the porch.
’You come then,’ he said, using the intonation of the dia-
lect.
’Yes,’ she said, looking up at him. ‘You’re late!’
’Ay!’ he replied, looking away into the wood.
She rose slowly, drawing aside her stool.
’Did you want to come in?’ she asked.
He looked down at her shrewdly.
’Won’t folks be thinkin’ somethink, you comin’ here ev-
ery night?’ he said.

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