Page 247 - lady-chatterlys-lover

He spoke cold, good English, and there was anger in his
voice. ‘Do you hate being a game-keeper?’ she asked.
’Being a game-keeper, no! So long as I’m left alone. But
when I have to go messing around at the police-station, and
various other places, and waiting for a lot of fools to attend
to me...oh well, I get mad...’ and he smiled, with a certain
faint humour.
’Couldn’t you be really independent?’ she asked.
’Me? I suppose I could, if you mean manage to exist on
my pension. I could! But I’ve got to work, or I should die.
That is, I’ve got to have something that keeps me occupied.
And I’m not in a good enough temper to work for myself.
It’s got to be a sort of job for somebody else, or I should
throw it up in a month, out of bad temper. So altogether I’m
very well off here, especially lately...’
He laughed at her again, with mocking humour.
’But why are you in a bad temper?’ she asked. ‘Do you
mean you are ALWAYS in a bad temper?’
’Pretty well,’ he said, laughing. ‘I don’t quite digest my
bile.’
’But what bile?’ she said.
’Bile!’ he said. ‘Don’t you know what that is?’ She was si-
lent, and disappointed. He was taking no notice of her.
’I’m going away for a while next month,’ she said.
’You are! Where to?’
’Venice! With Sir Clifford? For how long?’
’For a month or so,’ she replied. ‘Clifford won’t go.’
’He’ll stay here?’ he asked.
’Yes! He hates to travel as he is.’

Lady Chatterly’s Lover