Page 377 - lady-chatterlys-lover

a mechanical jig-jig-jig! Ah, these manly he-men, these
FL¶NEURS, the oglers, these eaters of good dinners! How
weary they were! weary, worn-out for lack of a little tender-
ness, given and taken. The efficient, sometimes charming
women knew a thing or two about the sensual realities: they
had that pull over their jigging English sisters. But they
knew even less of tenderness. Dry, with the endless dry ten-
sion of will, they too were wearing out. The human world
was just getting worn out. Perhaps it would turn fiercely de-
structive. A sort of anarchy! Clifford and his conservative
anarchy! Perhaps it wouldn’t be conservative much longer.
Perhaps it would develop into a very radical anarchy.
Connie found herself shrinking and afraid of the world.
Sometimes she was happy for a little while in the Boulevards
or in the Bois or the Luxembourg Gardens. But already Par-
is was full of Americans and English, strange Americans in
the oddest uniforms, and the usual dreary English that are
so hopeless abroad.
She was glad to drive on. It was suddenly hot weather, so
Hilda was going through Switzerland and over the Brenner,
then through the Dolomites down to Venice. Hilda loved
all the managing and the driving and being mistress of the
show. Connie was quite content to keep quiet.
And the trip was really quite nice. Only Connie kept say-
ing to herself: Why don’t I really care! Why am I never really
thrilled? How awful, that I don’t really care about the land-
scape any more! But I don’t. It’s rather awful. I’m like Saint
Bernard, who could sail down the lake of Lucerne without
ever noticing that there were even mountain and green wa-

Lady Chatterly’s Lover