Любовник леди Чаттерлей / Lady Chatterley's Lover

He sat square and well-groomed in his chair, his hair sleek and blond, and his face fresh, his blue eyes pale, and a little prominent, his expression inscrutable, but well-bred. Hilda thought it sulky and stupid, and he waited. He had an air of aplomb, but Hilda didn’t care what he had an air of; she was up in arms, and if he’d been Pope or Emperor it would have been just the same.

“Connie’s looking awfully unwell,” she said in her soft voice, fixing him with her beautiful, glowering grey eyes.

She looked so maidenly, so did Connie; but he well knew the tone of Scottish obstinacy underneath.

“She’s a little thinner,” he said.

“Haven’t you done anything about it?”

“Do you think it necessary?” he asked, with his suavest English stiffness, for the two things often go together.

Hilda only glowered at him without replying; repartee was not her forte, nor Connie’s; so she glowered, and he was much more uncomfortable than if she had said things.

“I’ll take her to a doctor,” said Hilda at length. “Can you suggest a good one round here?”

“I’m afraid I can’t.”

“Then I’ll take her to London, where we have a doctor we trust.”

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notes

Примечания

1

Первая Мировая война (1914–1918 гг.