Page 265 - lady-chatterlys-lover

’I don’t think people are eggs,’ he said. ‘Not even angels’
eggs, my dear little evangelist.’
He was in rather high feather this bright morning. The
larks were trilling away over the park, the distant pit in the
hollow was fuming silent steam. It was almost like old days,
before the war. Connie didn’t really want to argue. But then
she did not really want to go to the wood with Clifford ei-
ther. So she walked beside his chair in a certain obstinacy
of spirit.
’No,’ he said. ‘There will be no more strikes, it. The thing
is properly managed.’
’Why not?’
’Because strikes will be made as good as impossible.’
’But will the men let you?’ she asked.
’We shan’t ask them. We shall do it while they aren’t look-
ing: for their own good, to save the industry.’
’For your own good too,’ she said.
’Naturally! For the good of everybody. But for their good
even more than mine. I can live without the pits. They can’t.
They’ll starve if there are no pits. I’ve got other provision.’
They looked up the shallow valley at the mine, and be-
yond it, at the black-lidded houses of Tevershall crawling
like some serpent up the hill. >From the old brown church
the bells were ringing: Sunday, Sunday, Sunday!
’But will the men let you dictate terms?’ she said. ‘My
dear, they will have to: if one does it gently.’
’But mightn’t there be a mutual understanding?’
’Absolutely: when they realize that the industry comes
before the individual.’

Lady Chatterly’s Lover