Page 192 - sons-and-lovers

slope of the enormous bank.
‘You sit a minute, mother,’ he said, and she took a seat
on a bank, whilst he sketched rapidly. She was silent whilst
he worked, looking round at the afternoon, the red cottages
shining among their greenness.
‘The world is a wonderful place,’ she said, ‘and wonder-
fully beautiful.’
‘And so’s the pit,’ he said. ‘Look how it heaps together,
like something alive almost—a big creature that you don’t
know.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Perhaps!’
‘And all the trucks standing waiting, like a string of
beasts to be fed,’ he said.
‘And very thankful I am they ARE standing,’ she said,
‘for that means they’ll turn middling time this week.’
‘But I like the feel of MEN on things, while they’re alive.
There’s a feel of men about trucks, because they’ve been
handled with men’s hands, all of them.’
‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Morel.
They went along under the trees of the highroad. He
was constantly informing her, but she was interested. They
passed the end of Nethermere, that was tossing its sunshine
like petals lightly in its lap. Then they turned on a private
road, and in some trepidation approached a big farm. A dog
barked furiously. A woman came out to see.
‘Is this the way to Willey Farm?’ Mrs. Morel asked.
Paul hung behind in terror of being sent back. But the
woman was amiable, and directed them. The mother and
son went through the wheat and oats, over a little bridge

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