Page 68 - lady-chatterlys-lover

have done it.’
’I thought you would go straight ahead,’ said Connie.
‘And leave you to run after us?’ said Clifford.
’Oh, well, I like to run sometimes!’
Mellors took the chair again, looking perfectly unheed-
ing, yet Connie felt he noted everything. As he pushed
the chair up the steepish rise of the knoll in the park, he
breathed rather quickly, through parted lips. He was rather
frail really. Curiously full of vitality, but a little frail and
quenched. Her woman’s instinct sensed it.
Connie fell back, let the chair go on. The day had greyed
over; the small blue sky that had poised low on its circular
rims of haze was closed in again, the lid was down, there
was a raw coldness. It was going to snow. All grey, all grey!
the world looked worn out.
The chair waited at the top of the pink path. Clifford
looked round for Connie.
’Not tired, are you?’ he said.
’Oh, no!’ she said.
But she was. A strange, weary yearning, a dissatisfaction
had started in her. Clifford did not notice: those were not
things he was aware of. But the stranger knew. To Connie,
everything in her world and life seemed worn out, and her
dissatisfaction was older than the hills.
They came to the house, and around to the back, where
there were no steps. Clifford managed to swing himself over
on to the low, wheeled house-chair; he was very strong and
agile with his arms. Then Connie lifted the burden of his
dead legs after him.