Page 239 - lady-chatterlys-lover

’Why did he get killed, do you think?’ she asked. ‘He was
happy with you?’
It was a woman’s question to a woman. Mrs Bolton put
aside a strand of hair from her face, with the back of her
hand.
’I don’t know, my Lady! He sort of wouldn’t give in to
things: he wouldn’t really go with the rest. And then he
hated ducking his head for anything on earth. A sort of ob-
stinacy, that gets itself killed. You see he didn’t really care.
I lay it down to the pit. He ought never to have been down
pit. But his dad made him go down, as a lad; and then, when
you’re over twenty, it’s not very easy to come out.’
’Did he say he hated it?’
’Oh no! Never! He never said he hated anything. He
just made a funny face. He was one of those who wouldn’t
take care: like some of the first lads as went off so blithe to
the war and got killed right away. He wasn’t really wezzle-
brained. But he wouldn’t care. I used to say to him: ‘’You
care for nought nor nobody!’’ But he did! The way he sat
when my first baby was born, motionless, and the sort of
fatal eyes he looked at me with, when it was over! I had a
bad time, but I had to comfort HIM. ‘’It’s all right, lad, it’s
all right!’’ I said to him. And he gave me a look, and that
funny sort of smile. He never said anything. But I don’t be-
lieve he had any right pleasure with me at nights after; he’d
never really let himself go. I used to say to him: Oh, let thy-
sen go, lad!—I’d talk broad to him sometimes. And he said
nothing. But he wouldn’t let himself go, or he couldn’t. He
didn’t want me to have any more children. I always blamed

Lady Chatterly’s Lover