Hewassilentforalongtime。
　　`Howareyougoingaboutitforus？’hesaid。
　　`WewillseeifDuncanwillconsenttofigureasco-respondent：thenwemustgetCliffordtodivorceConnie：andyoumustgoonwithyourdivorce，andyoumustbothkeepaparttillyouarefree。’
　　`Soundslikealunaticasylum。’
　　`Possibly!Andtheworldwouldlookonyouaslunatics：orworse。；
　　`Whatisworse？’
　　`Criminals，Isuppose。’
　　`HopeIcanplungeinthedaggerafewmoretimesyet，’hesaid，grinning。
　　Thenhewassilent，andangry。
　　`Well!’hesaidatlast。`Iagreetoanything。Theworldisaravingidiot，andnomancankillit：thoughI’lldomybest。Butyoureright。
　　Wemustrescueourselvesasbestwecan。’
　　Helookedinhumiliation，anger，wearinessandmiseryatConnie。
　　`Malass!’hesaid。`Theworld’sgoin’toputsaltonthytail。’
　　`Notifwedon’tletit，’shesaid。
　　Shemindedthisconnivingagainsttheworldlessthanhedid。
　　Duncan，whenapproached，alsoinsistedonseeingthedelinquentgame-keeper，sotherewasadinner，thistimeinhisflat：thefourofthem。Duncanwasarathershort，broad，dark-skinned，taciturnHamletofafellowwithstraightblackhairandaweirdCelticconceitofhimself。Hisartwasalltubesandvalvesandspiralsandstrangecolours，ultra-modern，yetwithacertainpower，evenacertainpurityofformandtone：onlyMellorsthoughtitcruelandrepellent。Hedidnotventuretosayso，forDuncanwasalmostinsaneonthepointofhisart：itwasapersonalcult，apersonalreligionwithhim。
　　Theywerelookingatthepicturesinthestudio，andDuncankepthissmallishbrowneyesontheotherman。Hewantedtohearwhatthegame-keeperwouldsay。HeknewalreadyConnie’sandHilda’sopinions。
　　`Itislikeapurebitofmurder，’saidMellorsatlast；aspeechDuncanbynomeansexpectedfromagame-keeper。
　　`Andwhoismurdered？’askedHilda，rathercoldlyandsneeringly。
　　`Me!Itmurdersallthebowelsofcompassioninaman。’
　　Awaveofpurehatecameoutoftheartist。Heheardthenoteofdislikeintheotherman’svoice，andthenoteofcontempt。Andhehimselfloathedthementionofbowelsofcompassion。Sicklysentiment!
　　Mellorsstoodrathertallandthin，worn-looking，gazingwithflickeringdetachmentthatwassomethinglikethedancingofamothonthewing，atthepictures。
　　`Perhapsstupidityismurdered；sentimentalstupidity，’sneeredtheartist。
　　`Doyouthinkso？Ithinkallthesetubesandcorrugatedvibrationsarestupidenoughforanything，andprettysentimental。Theyshowalotofself-pityandanawfullotofnervousself-opinion，seemstome。’
　　Inanotherwaveofhatetheartist’sfacelookedyellow。Butwithasortofsilenthauteurheturnedthepicturestothewall。
　　`Ithinkwemaygotothedining-room，’hesaid。Andtheytrailedoff，dismally。
　　Aftercoffee，Duncansaid：
　　`Idon’tatallmindposingasthefatherofConnie’schild。Butonlyontheconditionthatshe’llcomeandposeasamodelforme。I’vewantedherforyears，andshe’salwaysrefused。’Heuttereditwiththedarkfinalityofaninquisitorannouncinganautodafe。
　　`Ah!’saidMellors。`Youonlydoitoncondition，then？’
　　`Quite!Ionlydoitonthatcondition。’Theartisttriedtoputtheutmostcontemptoftheotherpersonintohisspeech。Heputalittletoomuch。
　　`Betterhavemeasamodelatthesametime，’saidMellors。`Betterdousinagroup，VulcanandVenusunderthenetofart。Iusedtobeablacksmith，beforeIwasagame-keeper。’
　　`Thankyou，’saidtheartist。`Idon’tthinkVulcanhasafigurethatinterestsme。’
　　`Notevenifitwastubifiedandtitivatedup？’
　　Therewasnoanswer。Theartistwastoohaughtyforfurtherwords。
　　Itwasadismalparty，inwhichtheartisthenceforthsteadilyignoredthepresenceoftheotherman，andtalkedonlybriefly，asifthewordswerewrungoutofthedepthsofhisgloomyportentousness，tothewomen。
　　`Youdidn’tlikehim，buthe’sbetterthanthat，really。He’sreallykind，’Connieexplainedastheyleft。
　　`He’salittleblackpupwithacorrugateddistemper，’saidMellors。
　　`No，hewasn’tnicetoday。’
　　`Andwillyougoandbeamodeltohim？’
　　`Oh，Idon’treallymindanymore。Hewon’ttouchme。AndIdon’tmindanything，ifitpavesthewaytoalifetogetherforyouandme。’
　　`Buthe’llonlyshitonyouoncanvas。’
　　`Idon’tcare。He’llonlybepaintinghisownfeelingsforme，andI
　　don’tmindifhedoesthat。Iwouldn’thavehimtouchme，notforanything。
　　Butifhethinkshecandoanythingwithhisowlishartystaring，lethimstare。Hecanmakeasmanyemptytubesandcorrugationsoutofmeashelikes。It’shisfuneral。Hehatedyouforwhatyousaid：thathistubifiedartissentimentalandself-important。Butofcourseit’strue。’
　　Chapter19DearClifford，Iamafraidwhatyouforesawhashappened。I
　　amreallyinlovewithanotherman，anddohopeyouwilldivorceme。I
　　amstayingatpresentwithDuncanitshisflat。ItoldyouhewasatVenicewithus。I’mawfullyunhappyforyoursake：butdotrytotakeitquietly。
　　Youdon’treallyneedmeanymore，andIcan’tbeartocomebacktoWragby。
　　I’mawfullysorry。Butdotrytoforgiveme，anddivorcemeandfindsomeonebetter。I’mnotreallytherightpersonforyou，Iamtooimpatientandselfish，Isuppose。ButIcan’tevercomebacktolivewithyouagain。
　　AndIfeelsofrightfullysorryaboutitall，foryoursake。Butifyoudon’tletyourselfgetworkedup，you’llseeyouwon’tmindsofrightfully。
　　Youdidn’treallycareaboutmepersonally。Sodoforgivemeandgetridofme。
　　Cliffordwasnotinwardlysurprisedtogetthisletter。Inwardly，hehadknownforalongtimeshewasleavinghim。Buthehadabsolutelyrefusedanyoutwardadmissionofit。Therefore，outwardly，itcameasthemostterribleblowandshocktohim，Hehadkeptthesurfaceofhisconfidenceinherquiteserene。
　　Andthatishowweare，Bystrengthofwillwecutoffourinnerintuitiveknowledgefromadmittedconsciousness。Thiscausesastateofdread，orapprehension，whichmakestheblowtentimesworsewhenitdoesfall。
　　Cliffordwaslikeahystericalchild。HegaveMrsBoltonaterribleshock，sittingupinbedghastlyandblank。
　　`Why，SirClifford，whatever’sthematter？’
　　Noanswer!Shewasterrifiedlesthehadhadastroke。Shehurriedandfelthisface，tookhispulse。
　　`Isthereapain？Dotryandtellmewhereithurtsyou。Dotellme!’
　　Noanswer!
　　`Ohdear，ohdear!ThenI’lltelephonetoSheffieldforDrCarrington，andDrLeckymayaswellrunroundstraightaway。’
　　Shewasmovingtothedoor，whenhesaidinahollowtone：
　　`No!’
　　Shestoppedandgazedathim。Hisfacewasyellow，blank，andlikethefaceofanidiot。
　　`Doyoumeanyou’dratherIdidn’tfetchthedoctor？’
　　`Yes!Idon’twanthim，’camethesepulchralvoice。
　　`Oh，butSirClifford，you’reill，andIdaren’ttaketheresponsibility。
　　Imustsendforthedoctor，orIshallbeblamed。’
　　Apause：thenthehollowvoicesaid：
　　`I’mnotill。Mywifeisn’tcomingback。’——Itwasasifanimagespoke。
　　`Notcomingback？youmeanherladyship？’MrsBoltonmovedalittlenearertothebed。`Oh，don’tyoubelieveit。Youcantrustherladyshiptocomeback。’
　　Theimageinthebeddidnotchange，butitpushedaletteroverthecounterpane。
　　`Readit!’saidthesepulchralvoice。
　　`Why，ifit’saletterfromherladyship，I’msureherladyshipwouldn’twantmetoreadherlettertoyou，SirClifford。Youcantellmewhatshesays，ifyouwish。’
　　`Readit!’repeatedthevoice。
　　`Why，ifImust，Idoittoobeyyou，SirClifford，’shesaid。Andshereadtheletter。
　　`Well，Iamsurprisedatherladyship，’shesaid。`Shepromisedsofaithfullyshe’dcomeback!’
　　Thefaceinthebedseemedtodeepenitsexpressionofwild，butmotionlessdistraction。MrsBoltonlookedatitandwasworried。Sheknewwhatshewasupagainst：malehysteria。Shehadnotnursedsoldierswithoutlearningsomethingaboutthatveryunpleasantdisease。
　　ShewasalittleimpatientofSirClifford。Anymaninhissensesmusthaveknownhiswifewasinlovewithsomebodyelse，andwasgoingtoleavehim。Even，shewassure，SirCliffordwasinwardlyabsolutelyawareofit，onlyhewouldn’tadmitittohimself。Ifhewouldhaveadmittedit，andpreparedhimselfforit：orifhewouldhaveadmittedit，andactivelystruggledwithhiswifeagainstit：thatwouldhavebeenactinglikeaman。Butno!heknewit，andallthetimetriedtokidhimselfitwasn’tso。Hefeltthedeviltwistinghistail，andpretendeditwastheangelssmilingonhim。Thisstateoffalsityhadnowbroughtonthatcrisisoffalsityanddislocation，hysteria，whichisaformofinsanity。`Itcomes’，shethoughttoherself，hatinghimalittle，`becausehealwaysthinksofhimself。He’ssowrappedupinhisownimmortalself，thatwhenhedoesgetashockhe’slikeamummytangledinitsownbandages。Lookathim!’
　　Buthysteriaisdangerous：andshewasanurse，itwasherdutytopullhimout。Anyattempttorousehismanhoodandhispridewouldonlymakehimworse：forhismanhoodwasdead，temporarilyifnotfinally。Hewouldonlysquirmsofterandsofter，likeaworm，andbecomemoredislocated。
　　Theonlythingwastoreleasehisself-pity。LiketheladyinTennyson，hemustweeporhemustdie。
　　SoMrsBoltonbegantoweepfirst。Shecoveredherfacewithherhandandburstintolittlewildsobs。`Iwouldneverhavebelieveditofherladyship，Iwouldn’t!’shewept，suddenlysummoningupallheroldgriefandsenseofwoe，andweepingthetearsofherownbitterchagrin。Onceshestarted，herweepingwasgenuineenough，forshehadhadsomethingtoweepfor。
　　CliffordthoughtofthewayhehadbeenbetrayedbythewomanConnie，andinacontagionofgrief，tearsfilledhiseyesandbegantorundownhischeeks。Hewasweepingforhimself。MrsBolton，assoonasshesawthetearsrunningoverhisblankface，hastilywipedherownwetcheeksonherlittlehandkerchief，andleanedtowardshim。
　　`Now，don’tyoufret，SirClifford!’shesaid，inaluxuryofemotion。
　　`Now，don’tyoufret，don’t，you’llonlydoyourselfaninjury!’
　　Hisbodyshiveredsuddenlyinanindrawnbreathofsilentsobbing，andthetearsranquickerdownhisface。Shelaidherhandonhisarm，andherowntearsfellagain。Againtheshiverwentthroughhim，likeaconvulsion，andshelaidherarmroundhisshoulder。`There，there!There，there!Don’tyoufret，then，don’tyou!Don’tyoufret!’shemoanedtohim，whileherowntearsfell。Andshedrewhimtoher，andheldherarmsroundhisgreatshoulders，whilehelaidhisfaceonherbosomandsobbed，shakingandhulkinghishugeshoulders，whilstshesoftlystrokedhisdusky-blondhairandsaid：`There!There!There!Therethen!Therethen!Neveryoumind!
　　Neveryoumind，then!’
　　Andheputhisarmsroundherandclungtoherlikeachild，wettingthebibofherstarchedwhiteapron，andthebosomofherpale-bluecottondress，withhistears。Hehadlethimselfgoaltogether，atlast。
　　Soatlengthshekissedhim，androckedhimonherbosom，andinherheartshesaidtoherself：`Oh，SirClifford!Oh，highandmightyChatterleys!
　　Isthiswhatyou’vecomedownto!’Andfinallyheevenwenttosleep，likeachild。Andshefeltwornout，andwenttoherownroom，whereshelaughedandcriedatonce，withahysteriaofherown。Itwassoridiculous!Itwassoawful!Suchacome-down!Soshameful!Anditwassoupsettingaswell。
　　Afterthis，CliffordbecamelikeachildwithMrsBolton。Hewouldholdherh，andresthisheadonherbreast，andwhensheoncelightlykissedhim，hesaid!`Yes!Dokissme!Dokissme!’Andwhenshespongedhisgreatblondbody，hewouldsaythesame!`Dokissme!’andshewouldlightlykisshisbody，anywhere，halfinmockery。
　　Andhelaywithaqueer，blankfacelikeachild，withabitofthewondermentofachild。Andhewouldgazeonherwithwide，childisheyes，inarelaxationofmadonna-worship。Itwassheerrelaxationonhispart，lettinggoallhismanhood，andsinkingbacktoachildishpositionthatwasreallyperverse。Andthenhewouldputhishandintoherbosomandfeelherbreasts，andkisstheminexultation，theexultationofperversity，ofbeingachildwhenhewasaman。
　　MrsBoltonwasboththrilledandashamed，shebothlovedandhatedit。
　　Yetsheneverrebuffednorrebukedhim。Andtheydrewintoacloserphysicalintimacy，anintimacyofperversity，whenhewasachildstrickenwithanapparentcandourandanapparentwonderment，thatlookedalmostlikeareligiousexaltation：theperverseandliteralrenderingof：`exceptyebecomeagainasalittlechild’——WhileshewastheMagnaMater，fullofpowerandpotency，havingthegreatblondchild-manunderherwillandherstrokeentirely。
　　Thecuriousthingwasthatwhenthischild-man，whichCliffordwasnowandwhichhehadbeenbecomingforyears，emergedintotheworld，itwasmuchsharperandkeenerthantherealmanheusedtobe。Thispervertedchild-manwasnowarealbusiness-man；whenitwasaquestionofaffairs，hewasanabsolutehe-man，sharpasaneedle，andimperviousasabitofsteel。Whenhewasoutamongmen，seekinghisownends，and`makinggood’hiscollieryworkings，hehadanalmostuncannyshrewdness，hardness，andastraightsharppunch。ItwasasifhisverypassivityandprostitutiontotheMagnaMatergavehiminsightintomaterialbusinessaffairs，andlenthimacertainremarkableinhumanforce。Thewallowinginprivateemotion，theutterabasementofhismanlyself，seemedtolendhimasecondnature，cold，almostvisionary，business-clever。Inbusinesshewasquiteinhuman。
　　AndinthisMrsBoltontriumphed。`Howhe’sgettingon!’shewouldsaytoherselfinpride。`Andthat’smydoing!Myword，he’dneverhavegotonlikethiswithLadyChatterley。Shewasnottheonetoputamanforward。
　　Shewantedtoomuchforherself。’
　　Atthesametime，insomecornerofherweirdfemalesoul，howshedespisedhimandhatedhim!Hewastoherthefallenbeast，thesquirmingmonster。
　　Andwhilesheaidedandabettedhimallshecould，awayintheremotestcornerofherancienthealthywomanhoodshedespisedhimwithasavagecontemptthatknewnobounds。Themeresttrampwasbetterthanhe。
　　HisbehaviourwithregardtoConniewascurious。Heinsistedonseeingheragain。Heinsisted，moreover，onhercomingtoWragby。Onthispointhewasfinallyandabsolutelyfixed。ConniehadpromisedtocomebacktoWragby，faithfully。