Page 209 - lady-chatterlys-lover

some sort of horrible broil with his own brutal wife, who
hated him? Misery! Lots of misery! And he was no longer
young and merely buoyant. Neither was he the insouciant
sort. Every bitterness and every ugliness would hurt him:
and the woman!
But even if they got clear of Sir Clifford and of his own
wife, even if they got clear, what were they going to do?
What was he, himself going to do? What was he going to
do with his life? For he must do something. He couldn’t be
a mere hanger-on, on her money and his own very small
pension.
It was the insoluble. He could only think of going to
America, to try a new air. He disbelieved in the dollar ut-
terly. But perhaps, perhaps there was something else.
He could not rest nor even go to bed. After sitting in a
stupor of bitter thoughts until midnight, he got suddenly
from his chair and reached for his coat and gun.
’Come on, lass,’ he said to the dog. ‘We’re best outside.’
It was a starry night, but moonless. He went on a slow,
scrupulous, soft-stepping and stealthy round. The only
thing he had to contend with was the colliers setting snares
for rabbits, particularly the Stacks Gate colliers, on the
Marehay side. But it was breeding season, and even colliers
respected it a little. Nevertheless the stealthy beating of the
round in search of poachers soothed his nerves and took his
mind off his thoughts.
But when he had done his slow, cautious beating of his
bounds—it was nearly a five-mile walk—he was tired. He
went to the top of the knoll and looked out. There was no

0 Lady Chatterly’s Lover