Classic Audiobook Collection - England, My England by D. H. Lawrence ~ Full Audiobook [drama]

Episode Date: January 3, 2023

England, My England by D. H. Lawrence audiobook. Genre: drama In England, My England, D. H. Lawrence turns a fierce, intimate gaze on an English countryside that is being hollowed out by modern life and the pressures of war. At the center is Egbert, a charming, high-born dreamer who drifts through his days as if real responsibilities belong to someone else. His wife, Winifred, practical and increasingly exasperated, tries to hold together a household and a future that Egbert seems determined to treat like a passing mood. As the world beyond their fields tightens with duty, money, and marching orders, their marriage becomes a battleground between freedom and obligation, tenderness and resentment, fantasy and the hard grain of reality. Lawrence follows the shifting power between husband and wife, the pull of class expectations, and the uneasy question of what it means to love a country that is changing faster than its people can admit. Stark, lyrical, and unsentimental, the story builds toward a reckoning that feels both personal and national, capturing a society on the edge of irrevocable change. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 01 (00:40:38) Chapter 02 (01:13:17) Chapter 03 (01:36:30) Chapter 04 (02:11:57) Chapter 05 (02:38:44) Chapter 06 (03:07:59) Chapter 07 (03:45:59) Chapter 08 (04:27:58) Chapter 09 (04:47:56) Chapter 10 (05:16:10) Chapter 11 (05:34:30) Chapter 12 (05:58:54) Chapter 13 (06:17:50) Chapter 14 (06:38:27) Chapter 15 (06:58:31) Chapter 16 (07:26:21) Chapter 17 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

england my england by d h lawrence section one he was working on the edge of the common beyond the small brook that ran in the dip at the bottom of the garden carrying the garden path in continuation from the plank bridge on to the common he had cut the rough turf and bracken leaving the grey dry soil bare but he was worried because he could not get the path straight there was a pleat between his brows he had set up his sticks and taken the sights between the big pine trees but for some reason everything seemed wrong he looked again straining his keen blue eyes that had a touch of the viking in them through the shadowy pine trees as through a doorway, at the green-grast garden path rising from the shadow of alders by the log bridge up to the sunlit flowers. Tall white and purple columbines and the butt-end of the old Hampshire cottage that crouched near the earth amid flowers, blossoming in the bit of shaggy wildness round about. There was a sound of children's voices, calling and talking, high, childish, girlish voices, slightly didactic and tinged with domineering.

If you don't come quick, nurse, I shall run out there to where there are snakes. And nobody had the Saint-Fois to reply, Run then, little fool. It was always, no, darling, very well, darling. In a moment, darling. Darling, you must be patient. His heart was hard with disillusion, a continual gnawing and resistance.

But he worked on. what was there to do but submit the sunlight blazed down upon the earth there was a vividness of flamy vegetation of fierce seclusion amid the savage peace of the commons strange how the savage england lingers in patches as here amid these shaggy gorse commons and marshy snake-infested places near the foot of the south downs the spirit of place lingering on primeval as when the saxons came so long ago and how he had loved it the green garden path the tufts of flowers purple and white columbines and-bines and how he had loved it-the-green garden path the tufts of flowers purple and white columbines and and great oriental red poppies, with their black chaps and mullains tall and yellow. This flamy garden, which had been a garden for a thousand years, scooped out in the little hollow among the snake-infested commons. He had made it flame with flowers, in a sun-cup under its hedges and trees.

So old, so old a place. And yet he had recreated it. The timbered cottage with its slothed, cloaking cloak-like roof was old and forgotten it belonged to the old england of hamlets and yeoman lost all alone on the edge of the common at the end of a wide grassy briar entangled lane shaded with oak it had never known the world of to-day not till egbert came with his bride and he had come to fill it with flowers the house was ancient and very uncomfortable but he did not want to alter it ah marvellous to sit there in the wide black time-old chimney at night when the wind roared overhead and the wood which he had chopped himself sputtered on the hearth himself on one side the angle and winnifred on the other ah how he had wanted her winnifred she was young and beautiful and strong with life like a flame in sunshine she moved with a slow grace of energy like a blossoming red-flowered bush in motion she too seemed to come out of the old england ruddy strong with a certain crude passionate quiescence and a hawthorn robustness and he he was tall and slow and slow

and agile, like an English archer with his long, supple legs and fine movements. Her hair was nut-brown, and all in energetic curls and tendrils. Her eyes were nut-brown, too, like a robins for brightness, and he was white-skinned with fine silky hair that had darkened from fair, and a slightly arched nose of an old country family. They were a beautiful couple. The house was Winifred's. Her father was a man of energy too. He had come from the north, poor. Now he was moderately rich. He had bought this fair stretch of inexpensive land down in Hampshire. Not far from the tiny church of the almost extinct Hamlet stood his own house, a commodious old farmhouse standing back from the road across a bare grass yard. On one side of the side, on one side of the

this quadrangle was the long long barn or shed which he had made into a cottage for his youngest daughter priscilla one saw little blue and white check curtains at the long windows and inside overhead the grand old timbers of the high-pitched shed this was prissy's house fifty yards away was the pretty little new cottage which he had built for his daughter magdalen with the vegetable garden stretching away to the oak copp and then away beyond the lawns and rose-trees of the house garden went the track across a shaggy wild-grass space towards the ridge of tall black pines that grew on a dyke bank through the pines and above the sloping little bog under the wide desolate oak trees till there was winnifred's cottage crouching unexpectedly in front so much alone and so primitive it was winnifred's own house and the gardens and the bit of common and the boggy slope were hers her tiny domain she had married just at the time when her father had bought the estate about ten years before the war so she had been able to come to egbert with this for a marriage portion and who was more delighted he or she it would be hard to say she was only twenty at the time and he was only twenty-one he had about a hundred £150 pounds a year of his own, and nothing else but his very considerable personal attractions. He had no profession. He earned nothing, but he talked of literature and music. He had a passion for old folk music, collecting folk songs and folk dances, studging the Morris dance and the old customs. Of course in time he would make money in these ways. Meanwhile, youth and health and passion

and promise. Winiford's father was always generous, but still he was a man from the north with a hard head and a hard skin too, having received a good many knocks. At home he kept the hard head out of sight and played at poetry and romance with his literary wife and his sturdy, passionate girls. He was a man of courage, not given to complaining, bearing his burdens by himself. No, he did not let the world intrude far into his home. He had a delicate, sensitive wife, whose poetry won some fame in the narrow world of letters. He himself, with his tough old barbarian fighting spirit, had an almost childlike delight in verse, in sweet poetry, and in the delightful game of a cultured home. His blood was strong even to coarseness, but that only made the home more

vigorous, more robust, and Christmassy. There was always a touch of Christmas about him, now he was well off. If there was poetry after dinner, there were also chocolates and nuts, and good little out-of-the-way things to be munching. Well then, into this family came Egbert. He was made of quite a different paste. The girls and the father were strong-limbed, thick-blooded people true english as holly trees and hawthorn are english their culture was grafted on to them as one might perhaps graft a common pink rose on to a thorn stem it flowered oddly enough but it did not alter their blood an egbert was a born rose the age-long breeding had left him with a delightful spontaneous passion he was not clever nor even literary no but the intonation of his voice and the movement of his supple handsome body and the fine texture of his flesh and his hair the slight arch of his nose the quickness of his blue eyes would easily take the place of poetry winnifred loved him loved him this southerner as a higher being a higher being mind you not a deeper and as for him he loved her in passion with every fibre of him

she was the very warm stuff of life to him wonderful then those days at crockham cottage the first days all alone save for the woman who came to work in the morning marvellous days when she had all his tall supple fine-fleshed youth to herself for herself and he had her like a ruddy fire into which he could cast himself for rejuvenation ah that it might never end this passion this marriage the flame of their two bodies burnt again into that old cottage that was haunted already by so much bygone physical desire you could not be in the dark room for an hour without the influences coming over you the hot-blood desire of bygone yeoman there in this old den where they had lusted and bred for so many generations the silent house dark with thick timbered walls and the big black chimney-place and the sense of secrecy dark with low little windows sunk into the earth dark dark with low little windows sunk into the earth dark like a lair where strong beasts had lurked and mated lonely at night and lonely by day left to themselves and their own intensity for so many generations it seemed to cast a spell on the two young people they became different there was a curious secret glow about them a certain slumbering flame hard to understand that enveloped them both they too felt that they did not belong to the london world any more crockham had changed their blood the sense of the snakes that lived and slept even their own garden

in the sun so that he going forward with a spade would see a curious coiled brownish pile on the black soil which suddenly would start up hiss and dazzle rapidly away hissing one day winnifred heard the strangest scream from the flower-bed under the low window of the living-room ah the strangest scream like the very soul of the dark past crying aloud she ran out and saw a long brown snake on the flower-bed and in its flat mouth the one hind leg of a frog was striving to escape and screaming its strange tiny bellowing scream she looked at the snake and from its sullen flat head it looked at her obstinately she gave a cry and it released the frog and slid angrily away that was crockham the spear of modern invention had not passed through it and it lay there secret primitive savage as when the saxons first came and egbert and she were caught there caught out of the world he was not idle nor was she there were plenty of things to be done the house to be put into final repair after the workmen had gone cushions and curtains to sew the paths to make the water to fetch and attend to and then the slope of the deep-soiled neglected garden to level to terrace with little terraces and paths and to fill with flowers.

He worked away in his shirt-sleeves, worked all day intermittently doing this thing and the other, and she, quiet and rich in herself, seeing him stooping and laboring away by himself, would come to help him, to be near him. He, of course, was an amateur, a born amateur. He worked so hard and did so little, and nothing he ever did would hold together,

for long. If he terraced the garden, he held up the earth with a couple of long narrow planks that soon began to bend with the pressure from behind, and would not need many years to rot through and break, and let the soil slither all down again in a heap towards the stream bared. But there you are. He had not been brought up to come to grips with anything, and he thought it would do. nay he did not think there was anything else except little temporary contrivance is possible he who had such a passion for his old enduring cottage and for the old enduring things of the bygone england curious that the sense of permanency in the past had such a hold over him whilst in the present he was all amateurish and sketchy winniford could not criticise him town-bred everything's seemed to her splendid, and the very digging and shoveling itself seemed romantic, but neither Egbert nor she yet realised the difference between work and romance.

Godfrey Marshall, her father, was at first perfectly pleased with the menage down at Cruckham Cottage. He thought Egbert was wonderful, the many things he accomplished, and he was gratified by the glow of physical passion between the two young people. To the man who in London still worked hard to keep steady his modest fortune, the thought of this young couple digging away and loving one another down at Crockham Cottage, buried deep among the commons and marshes, near the pale showing bulk of the downs, was like a chapter of living romance. And they drew the sustenance for their fire of passion from him,

from the old man. It was he who fed their flame. He triumphed secretly in the thought, and it was to her father that Winifred still turned as the one source of all surety and life and support. She loved Egbert with passion, but behind her was the power of her father. It was the power of her father she referred to whenever she needed to refer. It never occurred to her to refer to Egbert, if she were in difficulty or doubt. No, in all the serious matters she depended on her father. For Egbert had no intention of coming to grips with life. He had no ambition whatsoever. He came from a decent family, from a pleasant country home, from delightful surroundings. He should, of course, have had a profession. He should have studied law or entered business in some way.

but no, that fatal three pounds a week would keep him from starving as long as he lived and he did not want to give himself into bondage. It was not that he was idle. He was always doing something in his amateurish way but he had no desire to give himself to the world and still less had he any desire to fight his way in the world. No, no, the world wasn't worth it.

He wanted to ignore it, to go his own way apart, like a casual pilgrim down the forsaken side tracks. He loved his wife, his cottage and garden. He would make his life there as a sort of Epicurean hermit. He loved the past, the old music, and dances and customs of Old England. He would try and live in the spirit of these, not in the spirit of the world of business. But often, Winifred's father, called her to London, for he loved to have his children round him. So Egbert and she must have

a tiny flat in town, and the young couple must transfer themselves from time to time, from the country to the city. In town, Egbert had plenty of friends of the same ineffectual sort as himself, tampering with the arts, literature, painting, sculpture, music. He was not bored. pounds a week, however, would not pay for all this. Winifred's father paid. He liked paying. He made her only a very small allowance, but he often gave her ten pounds, or gave Egbert ten pounds. So they both looked on the old man as the mainstay. Egbert didn't mind being patronised and paid for. Only when he felt the family was little too condescending, on account of money, he began to get huffy.

Then of course children came, a lovely little blonde daughter with a head of the thistledown. Everybody adored the child. It was the first exquisite blonde thing that had come into the family, a little mite with the white, slim, beautiful limbs of its father,

and as it grew up, the dancing dainty movement of a wild little daisy spirit. No wonder the marshals would love the child. They called her Joyce. They themselves had their own grace, but it was slow, rather heavy. They had every one of them strong, heavy limbs and darkish skins, and they were short in stature. And now they had, for one of their own, this light little cow-slip child. She was like a little poem in herself. But nevertheless she brought a new difficult Winifred must have a nurse for her. Yes, yes, there must be a nurse. It was the family decree, who was to pay for the nurse. The grandfather, seeing the father himself earned no money. Yes, the grandfather would pay, as he had paid all the lying in expenses. There came a slight sense of money strain. Egbert was living on his father-in-law. After the child was born,

it was never quite the same between him and Winifred. The difference was at first, hardly perceptible, but it was there. In the first place, Winifred had a new centre of interest. She was not going to adore her child, but she had what the modern mother so often has in the place of spontaneous love, a profound sense of duty towards her child. Winifred appreciated her darling little girl, and felt a deep sense of duty towards her.

Strange that this sense of duty should go deeper than the love for her husband. But so it was. And so it often is. The responsibility of motherhood was the prime responsibility in Winifred's heart. The responsibility of wifehood came a long way second.

Her child seemed to link her up again in a circuit with her own family. Her father and mother, herself and her child. That was the human trinity for her. Her husband? Yes, she loved him still, but that was like play. She had an almost barbaric sense of duty and of family. Till she married, her first human duty had been towards her father.

He was the pillar, the source of life, the everlasting support. Now another link was added to the chain of duty, her father, herself, and her child. Egbert was out of it. Without anything happening, he was gradually, unconsciously excluded from the circle. His wife still loved him physically, but, but he was almost the unnecessary party in the affair. He could not complain of Winifred. She still did her duty towards him. She still had a physical passion for him. that physical passion on which he had put all his life and soul but but it was for a long while an ever recurring but and then after the second child another blond winsome touching little thing not so proud and flame-like as joyce After Annabel came, then Egbert began truly to realise how it was.

His wife still loved him, but, and now the butt had grown enormous, her physical love for him was of secondary importance to her. It became ever less important. After all, she had had it this physical passion for two years now. It was not this that one lived from. No, no, something sterner. realer she began to resent her own passion for egbert just a little she began to despise it for after all there he was he was charming he was lovable he was terribly desirable but but oh the awful looming cloud of that but he did not stand firm in the landscape of her life like a tower of strength like a great pillar of significance no he was like a cat one has about the house

which will one day disappear and leave no trace. He was like a flower in the garden, trembling in the wind of life, and then gone, leaving nothing to show. As an adjunct, as an accessory, he was perfect. Many a woman would have adored to have him about her all her life, the most beautiful and desirable of all her possessions, but Winifred belonged to another school.

The years went by. and instead of coming more to grips with life, he relaxed more. He was of a subtle, sensitive, passionate nature, but he simply would not give himself to what Winifred called life, work. No, he would not go into the world and work for money. No, he just would not. If Winifred liked to live beyond their small income, well, it was her lookout. And Winifred did not really want him to go out.

into the world to work for money. Money became, alas, a word like a firebrand between them, setting them both aflame with anger. But that is because we must talk in symbols. Winifred did not really care about money. She did not care whether he earned or did not earn anything. Only she knew she was dependent on her father for three-fourths of the money spent for herself and her children,

that she let that be the cast of spell-eye, the drawn weapon between herself and Egbert. What did she want? What did she want? Her mother once said to her, with that characteristic touch of irony, well, dear, if it is your fate to consider the lilies, that toil not. Neither do they spin. That is one destiny among many others, and perhaps not so unpleasant as most.

Why'd you take it amiss, my child? The mother was subtler than her children. They very rarely knew how to answer her. So Winifred was only more confused. It was not a question of lilies. At least if it were a question of lilies, then her children were the little blossoms. They at least grew. Doesn't Jesus say, consider the lilies how they grow? Good then. She had her growing babies. But as for that other tall, handsome flower of a father of theirs, he was full-grown already, so she did not want to spend her life considering him in the flower of his days. No, it was not that he didn't earn money. It was not that he was idle. He was not idle. He was always doing something, always working away, down at Crockham, doing little jobs. But, oh dear, little jobs, the garden paths, the gorgeous flowers, the chairs to mend, old chairs to mend. It was that he stood for nothing.

If he had done something unsuccessfully and lost what money they had, if he had but striven with something, nay, even if he had been wicked, a waster, she would have been more free. She would have had something to resist at least. A waster stands for something, really. He says,

no, I will not aid and abet society in this business of increase and hanging together, I will upset the apple-cart as much as I can in my small way. Or else he says, No, I will not bother about others. If I have lusts, they are my own, and I prefer them to other people's virtues. So, a waster, a scamp, takes a sort of stand. He exposes himself to opposition and final castigation, at any rate in story-books. But Egbert, what are you to do with a man like Egbert? He had no vices. He was really kind, nay, generous, and he was not weak. If he had been weak, Winifred could have been kind to him. But he did not even give her that consolation. He was not weak, and he did not want her consolation or her kindness. No, thank you.

of a fine passionate temper and of a rarer steel than she he knew it and she knew it hence she was only the more baffled and maddened poor thing he the higher the finer in his way the stronger played with his garden and his old folk-songs and morris dances just played and let her support the pillars of the future on her own heart and he began to get bitter and a wicked look began to come on his face he did not give in to her not he there were seven devils inside his long slim white body he was healthy full of restrained life yes even he himself had to lock up his own vivid life inside himself now she would not take it from him or rather now that she only took it occasionally for she had to look up his own vivid life inside himself now she would not take it from him or rather now that she only took it occasionally for she had to yield at times. She loved him so, she desired him so. He was so exquisite to her, the fine creature that he was, finer than herself. Yes, with a groan she had to give in to her own unquenched passion for him, and he came to her then. Ah, terrible, ah, wonderful. Sometimes she wondered how either of them could live after the terror of the passion that swept between them.

It was to her as if pure lightning, flash after flash, went through every fibre of her till extinction came. But it is the fate of human beings to live on, and it is the fate of clouds that seem nothing but bits of vapour slowly to pile up, to pile up and fill the heavens, and blackened the sun entirely. So it was. The love came back, the lightning of passion flashed tremendously between them, and there was blue sky and gorgeousness for a little while.

And then, as inevitably, as inevitably, slowly the clouds began to edge up again above the horizon, slowly, slowly to lurk above the heavens, throwing an occasional cold and hateful shadow, slowly slowly to congregate to fill the imperian space and as the years passed the lightning cleared the sky more and more rarely less and less the blue showed gradually the grey lid sank down upon them as if it would be permanent why didn't egbert do something then why didn't he come to grips with life why wasn't he like winifred's father a pillar of society even if a slender exquisite column why didn't he go into harness of some sort why didn't he take some direction well you can bring an ass to the water but you cannot make him drink the world was the water and egbert was the ass and he wasn't having any he couldn't he just couldn't since necessity did not force him to work for his bread and butter

he would not work for work's sake. You can't make the Columbine flowers not in January, nor make the cuckoo sing in England at Christmas. Why? It isn't his season. He doesn't want to. Nay, he can't want to. And there it was with Egbert. He couldn't link up with the world's work

because the basic desire was absent from him. Nay, at the bottom of him, he had an even stronger desire, to hold aloof, to hold aloof, to do nobody any damage, but to hold aloof. It was not his season. Perhaps he should not have married and had children, but you can't stop the waters flowing. Which held true for Winifred too. She was not made to endure aloof. Her family tree was a robust vegetation that had to be stirring and believing. In wonder, direction or another, her life had to go. In her own home she'd know nothing of this dividends,

which she found in Egbert, and which she could not understand, and which threw her into such dismay. What was she to do? What was she to do in face of this terrible diffidence? It was also different in her own home. Her father may have had his own misgivings, but he kept them to himself. perhaps he had no very profound belief in this world of ours this society which we have elaborated with so much effort only to find ourselves elaborated to death at last but godfrey marshal was of tough rough fibre not without a vein of healthy cunning through it all it was for him a question of winning through and leaving the rest to heaven without having many illusions to grace him he still did believe in heaven. In a dark and unquestioning way, he had a sort of faith, an acrid faith, like the sap of some not-to-be- exterminated tree. Just a blind, acrid faith, as sap is blind in acrid, and yet pushes on in growth and in faith. Perhaps he was unscrupulous, but only as a

striving tree is unscrupulous, pushing its single way in a jungle of others. in the end it is only this robust sap-like faith which keeps man going he may live on for many generations inside the shelter of the social establishment which is erected for himself as pear trees and current bushes would go on bearing fruit for many seasons inside a walled garden even if the race of man were suddenly exterminated but bit by bit the wool-fruit trees would gradually pull down the very walls that sustained them bit by bit every establishment collapses unless it is renewed or restored by living hands all the while egbert could not bring himself to any more of this restoring or renewing business he was not aware of the fact but awareness doesn't help much anyhow he just couldn't he had the stoic and epicurean quality of his old fine breeding his father-in-law however though he is not one bit more of a fool than egbert realized that since we are here we may as well live and so he applied himself to his own tiny section of the social work and to doing the best for his family and to leaving the rest to the ultimate will of heaven a certain robustness of blood made him able to do so much to do his best for his family and to leaving the rest to the ultimate will of heaven a certain robustness of blood made him able to go on. But sometimes even from him spurted a sudden gall of bitterness against the world and its maker. And yet, he had his own will to succeed, and this carried him through. He refused to ask

himself what the success would amount to. It amounted to the estate down in Hampshire, and his children lacking for nothing, and himself of some importance in the world, and buster, buster, buster, buster. Nevertheless, do not let us imagine that he was a common pusher. He was not. He knew well as Egbert what disillusion meant. Perhaps in his soul he had the same estimation of success, but he had a certain acrid courage and a certain will to power. In his own small circle, he would emanate power, the single power of his own blind self. with all his spoiling of his children he was still the father of the old english type he was too wise to make laws and to domineer in the abstract but he had kept an all honour to him a certain primitive dominion over the souls of his children the old almost magic prestige of paternity there it was still burning in him the old smoky torch or paternal godhead

and in the sacred glare of this torch his children had been brought up. He had given the girls every liberty at last, but he had never really let them go beyond his power. And they, venturing out into the hard white light of a fatherless world, learned to see with the eyes of the world. They learned to criticise their father, even from some effulgence of worldly white light, to see him as inferior.

But this was all very well in the head. The moment they forgot their tricks of criticism, the old red glow of his authority came over them again. He was not to be quenched. Let the psychoanalyst talk about father complex. It is just a word invented. Here was a man who had kept alive the old red flame of fatherhood, fatherhood fatherhood that had even the right to sacrifice the child to god like isaac fatherhood that had life and death authority over the children a great natural power

until his children could be brought under some other great authority as girls or could arrive at manhood and become themselves centres of the same power continuing the same male mystery as men until such time willy-nilly godfrey marshal would keep his children it had seemed as if he might lose winnifred winnifred had adored her husband and had looked up to him as to something wonderful perhaps she had expected in him another great authority a male authority greater finer than her father's for having once known the glow of male power she would not easily turn to her father's for having once known the glow of male power she would not easily turn to the cold white light of feminine independence she would hunger hunger all her life for the warmth and shelter of true male strength and hunger she might for egbert's power lay in the abnegation of power he was himself a living negative of power even of responsibility for the negation of power at last means the negation of responsibility as far as these things went he would confine himself to himself he would try to confine his own influence even to himself he would try as far as possible to abstain from influencing his children by assuming any responsibility for them a little child shall lead them his child should lead them then he would try not to make it go in any direction whatever he would abstain from immisibility for them influencing it. Liberty. Poor Winifred was like a fish out of water in this liberty,

gasping for the denser element which should contain her, till her child came. And then she knew that she must be responsible for it, that she must have authority over it. But here Egbert silently and negatively stepped in. Silently, negatively, but fatally, he neutralised her authority over her children there was a third little girl born and after this winnifred wanted no more children her soul was turning to end of section one section two of england my england by d h lawrence this leave of o'clock's recording is in the public domain recording by antony ogus

so she had charge of the children they were her responsibility the money for them had come from her father she would do her very best for them and have command over their life and death but no egbert would not take the responsibility he would not even provide the money but he would not let her have her way her dark silent passionate authority he would not allow it was a battle between them the battle between liberty and the old blood power and of course he won the little girls loved him and adored him daddy daddy they could do as they like with him. Their mother would have ruled them. She would have ruled them passionately with indulgence, with the old dark magic of parental authority, something looming and unquestioned, and after all, divine, if we believe in divine authority. The Marshals did, being Catholic. An Egbert, he turned her old dark Catholic blood authority into a sort of tyranny. he would not leave her her children he stole them from her and yet without assuming responsibility for them he stole them from her in emotion and spirit and left her only to command their behaviour a thankless lot for a mother

and her children adored him adored him little knowing the empty bitterness they were preparing for themselves when they too grew up to have husbands husbands such as egbert adorable and null joyce the oldest was still his favourite she was now a quicksilver little thing of six years old barbara the youngest was a toddler of two years years they spent most of their time down at crockham because he wanted to be there and even winifred loved the place really but now in her frustrated and blinded state it was full of menace for her children the adders the poisoned berries the brook the marsh the water that might not be pure one thing and another from mother and nurse it was a gorilla gunfire of commands and blithe quick-silver disobedience from the three blonde, never still little girls. Behind the girls was the father, against mother and nurse. And so it was. If you don't come quick, nurse, I shall run out there to where there are snakes. Joyce, you must be patient. I'm just changing Annabel. There you are. There it was, always the same working away on the common across the brook he heard it and he worked on just the same suddenly he heard a shriek

and he flung the spade from him and started for the bridge looking up like a startled deer ah there was winifred joyce had hurt herself he went on up the garden what is it the child was still screaming now it was daddy daddy oh oh daddy and the mother was saying don't be frightened darling let mother look but the child only cried oh daddy daddy she was terrified by the sight of the blood running from her own knee winnifred crouched down with a child of six in her lap to examine the knee egbert bent over also don't make such a noise joyce he said irritably how did she do it she fell on that sickle thing which you left lying about after cutting the grass said winifred looking into his face with bitter accusation as he bent near he had taken his handkerchief and tied it round the knee then he lifted the still sobbing child in his arms and carried her into the house and upstairs to her bed in his arms she became quiet but his heart was burning with pain and with guilt he had left the sickle there lying on the edge of the grass and so his first-born child whom he loved so dearly had come to hurt but then it was an accident it was an accident why should he feel guilty it would probably be nothing better in two or three days why take it to heart why worry he put it aside the child lay on the bed in her little summer frock her face very white now after the shock nurse had come carrying the youngest child and little annabel stood holding her little annabel stood holding her face very white now after the shock nurse had come carrying the youngest child and little annabel stood holding her

her skirts winnifred terribly serious and wooden seeming was bending over the knee from which he had taken his blood-soaked handkerchief egbert bent forward too keeping more sang-froix in his face than in his heart winnifred went all of a lump of seriousness so he had to keep some reserve the child moaned and whimpered the knee was still bleeding profusely it was a deep cut right in the joint you'd better go for the doctor egbert said winnifred bitterly oh no oh no cried joyce in a panic joyce my darling don't cry said winnifred suddenly catching the little girl to her breast in a strange tragic anguish the martyr dolorata even the child was frightened into silence egbert looked at the tragic figure of his wife with a child at her breast and turned away only annabel started suddenly to cry joycey joycy don't have your leg bleeding egbert rode four miles to the village for the doctor he could not help feeling that winifred was laying it on rather surely the knee itself wasn't hurt surely not it was only a surface cut the doctor was out egbert left the message and came cycling swiftly home his heart pinched with anxiety he dropped sweating off his bicycle and went into the house looking rather small like a man who is at fault winifred was upstairs sitting by joyce who was looking pale and important in bed and was looking pale and important in bed and was

was eating some tapioca pudding the pale small scared face of his child went to egbert's heart dr wing was out he'll be here about half-past two said egbert i don't want him to come whimpered joyce joyce dear you must be patient and quiet said winnifred he won't hurt you that he will tell us what to do to make your knee better quickly that is why he's why he's must come. Winifred always explained carefully to her little girls, and it always took the words off their lips for the moment. Does it bleed yet? said Egbert. Winifred moved the bed, closed carefully aside. I think not, she said. Egbert stooped also to look. No, it doesn't, she said. Then he stood up with a relieved look on his face. He'd turned, to the child. Eat your pudding, Joyce, he said.

It won't be anything. You've only got to keep still for a few days. You haven't had your dinner, have you, Daddy? Not yet. Nurse will give it to you, said Winifred. You'll be all right, Joyce, he said, smiling to the child and pushing the blonde hair off her brow. She smiled back winsomely into his face.

he went downstairs and ate his meal alone nurse served him she liked waiting on him all women liked him and liked to do things for him the doctor came a fat country practitioner pleasant and kind what little girl been tumbling down have you there's a thing to be doing for a smart little lady like you what and cutting your knee tut tut tut that wasn't clero you now was it never mind never mind soon be better let us look at it won't hurt you not the least in life bring a bowl with a little warm water nurse soon have it all right again soon have it all right joyce smiled at him with a pale smile of faint superiority this was not the way in which he was used to being talked to he bent down carefully looking at the little thin wounded knee of the child egbert bent over him oh dear oh dear quite a deep little cut nasty little cut nasty little cut but never mind never mind little lady well see why never mind little lady well soon have it better. Soon have it better, little lady. What's your name? My name is Joyce, said the child distinctly. Oh, really? he replied. Oh, really? Well, that's a fine name, too, in my opinion. Joyce, eh? And how old might Mitch Joyce be? Can she tell me that? I'm six,

said the child, slightly amused and very condescending. six there now add up and count as far as six can you well that's a clever little girl a clever little girl and if she has to drink a spoonful of medicine she won't make a murmur i'll be bound not like some little girls what eh i'll take it if mother wishes me too said joyce ah there now that's the style that's what i like to hear from a little lady in bed because she's cut her knee that's the style the comfortable and prolix doctor dressed and bandaged the knee and recommended bed and a light diet for the little lady he thought a week or a fortnight would put it right no bones or ligatures damaged fortunately only a flesh cut he would come again in a day or two. So Joyce was reassured and stayed in bed and had all her toys up. Her father often played with her.

The doctor came the third day. He was fairly pleased with the knee. It was healing. It was healing, yes, yes. Let the child continue in bed. He came again after a day or two. Winifred was a trifle uneasy. The wound seemed to be healing.

on the top but it hurt the child too much it didn't look quite right she said so to egbert egbert i'm sure joyce's knee isn't healing properly i think it is he said i think it's all right i'd rather dr wing came again i don't feel satisfied aren't you trying to imagine it worse than it really is you would say so of course but I shall write a postcard to Dr. Wing now. The doctor came next day. He examined the knee. Yes, there was inflammation. Yes, there might be a little septic poisoning. There might.

There might. Was the child feverish? So a fortnight passed by, and the child was feverish, and the knee was more inflamed and grew worse and was painful. painful. She cried in the night and her mother had to sit up with her. Egbert still insisted

it was nothing really. It would pass. But in his heart he was anxious. Winifred wrote again to her father. On Saturday the elderly man appeared. And no sooner did Winifred see the thick rather short figure

in its grey suit than a great yearning came over her. Father, I'm not satisfied with Joyce. I'm not satisfied with Dr. Wing. Well, Winnie, dear, if you're not satisfied, we must have further advice, that is all. The sturdy, powerful, elderly man went upstairs, his voice sounding rather grating through the house, as if it cut upon the tense atmosphere. Oh, are you Joyce, darling? He said to the child, does your knee hurt you does it hurt you dear it does sometimes the child was shy of him cold towards him oh dear i'm sorry for that i hope you try to bear it and not trouble mother too much there was no answer he looked at the knee it was red and stiff of course he said i think we must have another doctor's opinion

and if we're going to have it, we had better have it at once. Egbert, do you think you might cycle into Bingham for Dr. Wayne? I found him very satisfactory for Winnie's mother. And go if you think it necessary, said Egbert. Certainly I think it necessary, even if there is nothing we can have peace of mind. Certainly I think it necessary. I should like Dr. Wayne to come this evening, if possible. so egbert set off on his bicycle through the wind like a boy sent on an errand leaving his father-in-law a pillar of assurance with winifred

dr wayne came and looked grave yes the knee was certainly taking the wrong way the child might be lame for life up went the fire and fear and anger in every heart dr wayne came again the name next day for a proper examination and yes the knee had really taken bad ways it should be x-rayed it was very important godfrey marshal walked up and down the lane with the doctor beside the standing motor-car up and down up and down in one of those consultations of which he had had so many in his life as a result he came indoors to winifred well winnie dear the best thing to do is to take choice up to london to a nursing home where she can have proper treatment of course this knee has been allowed to go wrong and apparently there is a risk that the child may even lose her leg what do you think dear you agree to i taking her up to town and putting her under the best care oh father you know i would do anything on earth for her i know you would winnie darling the pity is that there has been this unfortunate delay already i can't think what dr wing was doing apparently the child is in danger of losing her leg well then if you will have everything ready we will take her up to town to-morrow i will order the large car from denlis to be here at ten egbert will you take a telegram at once to dr jackson it is a small nursing home for children and for surgical cases not far from baker street i'm sure joyce will be all right there oh father can't i nurse her myself well darling if she is to have proper treatment she had best be in a home the x-ray treatment and the electric treatment and whatever is necessary

it will cost a great deal said winnifred we can't think of cost if the child's leg is in danger or even her life know you speaking of cost said the older man impatiently and so it was poor joyce stretched out on a bed in the big closed motor-car the mother sitting by her head the grandfather and his short grey beard and a bowler hat sitting by her feet thick and implacable in his response ability they rolled slowly away from crockham and from egbert who stood there bareheaded and a little ignominious left behind he was to shut up the house and bring the rest of the family back to town by train the next day followed a dark and bitter time the poor child the poor child how she suffered an agony and a long crucifixion in that nerve nursing home it was a bitter six weeks which changed the soul of winifred forever as she sat by the bed of her poor tortured little child tortured with the agony of the knee and the still worse agony of these diabolic but perhaps necessary modern treatments she felt her heart killed and going cold in her breast her little joyce her frail brave wonderful little joyce frail and small and pale as a white flower ah how had she winifred dared to be so wicked so wicked so careless so sensual let my heart die let my woman's heart of flesh die saviour let my heart die and save my child let my heart die from the world and from the world and from the flesh. O destroy my heart that is so wayward! Let my heart of pride die. Let my heart die.

So she prayed beside the bed of her child, and like the mother with the seven swords in her breast, slowly her heart of pride and passion died in her breast, bleeding away. Slowly it died, bleeding away, and she turned to the church for comfort. to Jesus, to the mother of God, but most of all, to that great and enduring institution, the Roman Catholic Church. She withdrew into the shadow of the church. She was a mother with three children, but in her soul she died. Her heart of pride and passion and desire bled to death. Her soul belonged to her church. Her body belonged to her duty as a mother. her duty as a wife did not enter as a wife she had no sense of duty only a certain bitterness towards the man with whom she had known such sensuality and distraction

she was purely the martyr dolorata to the man she was closed as a tomb egbert came to see his child but winifred seemed to be always seated there like the tomb of his manhood and his father hood poor winnifred she was still young still strong and ruddy and beautiful like a ruddy hard flower of the field strange her ruddy healthy face so sombre and her strong heavy full-blooded body so still she and none never and yet the gates of her heart and soul had shut in his face with the slow resonant clang shutting him out for ever there was no need for her to go into a convent her will had done it and between this young mother and this young father lay the crippled child like a bit of pale silk floss on the pillow and a little white paint quenched face. He could not bear it. He just could not bear it. He turned aside. There was nothing to do but to turn aside. He turned aside and went hither and thither desultory. He was still attractive and desirable, but there was little frown between his brow, as if he had been cleft there with a hatchet, cleft right in forever, and that was the stigma.

the child's leg was saved but the knee was locked stiff the fear now was less the lower leg should wither or cease to grow there must be long continued massage and treatment daily treatment even when the child left the nursing home and the whole of the expense was borne by the grandfather egbert now had no real home winnifred with the children and nurse was tied to the little flat in london he could not live there he could not contain himself the cottage was shut up or lent to friends he went down sometimes to work in his garden and keep the place in order then with the empty house around him at night all the empty rooms he felt his heart go wicked the sense of frustration and futility, like some slow, torpid snake, slowly bit right through his heart. Futility, futility, the horrible marsh poison

went through his veins and killed him. As he worked in the garden in the silence of day, he would listen for a sound. No sound. No sound of Winifred from the dark inside of the cottage. No sound of children. children's voices from the air, from the common, from the near distance. No sound, nothing but the old, dark, marsh, venomous atmosphere of the place. So he worked spasmodically through the day, and at night made a fire and cooked some food alone. He was alone. He himself cleaned the cottage and made his bed. But his mending he did not do, his shirts were slit on the shoulders when he had been working and the white flesh showed through he would fill the air and the spots of rain on his exposed flesh and he would look again across the common

where the dark tufted gorse was dying to seed and the bits of cat heather were coming pink in tufts like a sprinkling of sacrificial blood his heart went back to the savage old spirit of the place, the desire for old gods, old lost passions, the passion of the cold-blooded darting snakes that hissed and shot away from him, the mystery of blood sacrifices, all the lost intense sensations of the primeval people of the place, whose passions seethed in the air still from those long days before the Romans came. the seeth of a lost dark passion in the air the presence of unseen snakes A queer baffled half-wicked look came on his face

He could not stay long at the cottage Suddenly he must swing onto his bicycle and go Anywhere anywhere away from the place He would stay a few days with his mother in the old home his mother adored him and grieved as a mother would but the little baffled half-wicked smile curled on his face and he swung away from his mother's solicitude as from everything else always moving on from place to place friend to friend and always swinging away from sympathy as soon as sympathy like a soft hand was reached out to touch him away he swerved instinctively as a harmless snake swerves and swerves and swerves away from an outstretched hand away he must go and periodically he went back to winifred he was terrible to her now like a temptation she had devoted herself to her children and her church joyce was once more on her feet but alas lame with iron supports to her leg

and a little crutch. It was strange how she had grown into a long, pallid, wild little thing. Strange that the pain had not made her soft and docile, but had brought out a wild almost mean had temper in the child. She was seven and long and white and thin, but by no means subdued. Her blonde hair was darkening.

She still had long sufferings to her. face, and in her own childish consciousness the stigma of her lameness to bear, and she bore it, an almost mean-ad courage seemed to possess her as if she were a long, thin, young weapon of life. She acknowledged all her mother's care. She would stand by her mother forever, but some of her father's fine-tempered desperation flashed in her. When Egbert saw his little girl, she was, she would stand by her mother, girl limping horribly not only limping but lurching horribly in crippled childish way his heart again hardened with chagrin like steel that is tempered again there was a tacit understanding between him and his little girl not what we would call love but a weapon like kinship there was a tiny touch of irony in his manner towards her contrasting sharply with winnifred's heavy unleavened solicitude and care. The child flickered back to him with an answering little smile of irony and

recklessness, an odd flippancy which made Winifred only the more sombre and earnest. The marshals took endless thought and trouble for the child, searching out every means to save her limb and her active freedom. They spared no effort and no money. They spared no strength of will, with all their slow heavy power of will they willed that joy should save her liberty of movement should win back her wild free grace even if it took a long time to recover it should be recovered so the situation stood and joy submitted week after week month after month to the tyranny and pain of the treatment she acknowledged the honourable effort on her behalf, but her flamy, reckless spirit was her father's. It was he who had all the glamour for her. He and she were like members of some forbidden secret society who know one another but may not recognise one another. Knowledge they had in common, the same secret of life, the father and the child.

But the child stayed in the camp of her mother, honourably, and the father wandered out. outside like Ishmael only coming sometimes to sit in the home for an hour or two an evening or two beside the camp-fire like Ishmael in a curious silence and tension with a mocking-a-answer of the desert speaking out of his silence and annulling the whole convention of the domestic home his presence was almost an anguish to Winifred she prayed against it that little cleft between his his brow that flickering wicked little smile that seemed to haunt his face and above all the triumphant loneliness the ishmael quality and then the erectness of his supple body like a symbol the very way he stood so quiet so insidious like an erect supple symbol of life the living body confronting her downcast soul was torture to her he was like a supple living idol moving before her eyes and she felt if she watched him she was damned and he came and made himself at home in her little home when he was there moving in his own quiet way she felt as if the whole great law of sacrifice by which she had elected to live were annulled he annulled by his very presence the laws of her life and what did he substitute ah against that question she hardened herself in recoil it was awful to her to have to have him about moving about in his shirt sleeves speaking in his tenor throaty voice to the children

annabel simply adored him and he teased the little girl the baby barbara was not sure of him she had been born a stranger to him but even the nurse when she saw his white shoulder of flesh through the slits of his torn shirt thought it a shame winifred felt it was only another weapon of his against her you have other shirts why do you wear that old one that is all torn egbert she said i may as well wear it out he said subtly he knew she would not offer to mend it for him she could not and no she would not had she would not had she would not had she had she not her own gods to honour and could she betray them submitting to his baal and ahteroth and it was terrible to her his unsheathed presence that seemed to annul her and her faith like another revelation like a gleaming idol evoked against her a vivid life idol that might triumph end of section two section three of england my england by d h lawrence this libre vox recording is in the public domain recording by antony ogus he came and he went and she persisted and then the great war broke out he was a man who could not go to the dogs he could not dissipate himself he was pure bread and his english and even when he would have killed to be vicious, he could not. So when the war broke out, his whole instinct was against it, against war.

He had not the faintest desire to overcome any foreigners or to help in their death. He had no conception of Imperial England, and Rule Britannia was just a joke to him. He was a pure-blooded Englishman, perfect in his race, and when he was truly himself, he could no more have been aggressive on the score of his Englishness than a rose can be aggressive on the score of its rosiness. No, he had no desire to defy Germany and to exalt England. The distinction between German and English was not for him the distinction between good and bad.

It was the distinction between blue water flowers and red or white bush blossoms, just difference. The difference between the wild boarer, and the wild bear, and a man was good or bad according to his nature, not according to his nationality. Egbert was well bred, and this was part of his natural understanding. It was merely unnatural to him to hate a nation on block. Certain individuals he disliked and others he liked, and the mass he knew nothing about. Certain deeds he disliked, certain deeds seem natural to him, and about most deeds he had no particular feeling.

He had, however, the one deepest pure-bred instinct. He recoiled inevitably from having his feelings dictated to him by the mass feeling. His feelings were his own, his understanding was his own, and he would never go back on either, willingly. Shall a man become inferior to his own true knowledge and self, just because the mob expects it of him. What Egbert felt subtly and without question, his father-in-law felt also in a rough, more combative way. Different as the two men were, they were two real Englishmen, and their instincts were almost the same.

And Godfrey Marshall had the world to reckon with. There was German military aggression, and the English non-military idea of liberty and the conquests of peace, meaning industrialism. Even if the choice between militarism and industrialism were a choice of evils, the elderly man asserted his choice of the latter per force, he whose soul was quick with the instinct of power. Egbert just refused to reckon with the world. He just refused even to decide,

between German militarism and British industrialism. He chose neither. As for atrocities, he despised the people who committed them as inferior criminal types. There was nothing national about crime. And yet war, war, just war, not right or wrong, but just war itself. Should he join?

Should he give himself over to war? The question was in his mind for some weeks. Not because he thought England was right and Germany wrong. Probably Germany was wrong, but he refused to make a choice. Not because he felt inspired, no, but just war. The deterrent was the giving himself over into the power of other men and into the power of the mob spirit of a democratic army. Should he give himself over?

should he make over his own life and body to the control of something which he knew was inferior in spirit to his own self? Should he commit himself into the power of an inferior control? Should he? Should he betray himself? He was going to put himself into the power of his inferiors, and he knew it. He was going to subjugate himself. He was going to be ordered about by petty can I of non-commission. officers and even commissioned officers he who was born and bred free should he do it he went to his wife to speak to her shall i join up winnifred she was silent her instinct also was dead against it and yet a certain profound resentment made her answer you have thrilled children dependent on you i don't know whether you have thought of that it was still only the third month of the war and the old pre-war ideas were still alive of course but it won't make much difference to them i shall be earning a shilling a day at least

you had better speak to father i think she replied heavily egbert went to his father-in-law the elderly man's heart was full of resentment i should say he said rather sourly it is the best thing you could do egbert went and joined up immediately as a private soldier he was drafted into the light artillery winnifred now had a new duty towards him the duty of a wife towards a husband who is himself performing his duty towards the world she loved him still she would always love him as far as earthly love went but it was duties she now lived by when he came back to her in car key a soldier she submitted to him as a wife it was her duty but to his passion she could never again fully submit something prevented her for ever even her own deepest choice he went back again to camp it did not suit him to be a modern soldier in the thick gritty hideous khaki his subtle physique was extinguished as if he had been killed in the ugly intimacy of the camp his thoroughbred sensibilities were just degraded but he had chosen so he accepted an ugly little look came on to his face of a man who has accepted his own degradation in the early spring winnifred went down to crockham to be there when primroses were out and the tassels hanging on the hazel bushes she felt something like a reconciliation towards egbert now he was a prisoner in camp most of his days joyce was wild with delight at seeing the garden and the common again after

after the eight or nine months of london and misery she was still lame she still had the irons up her leg but she lurched about with a wild crippled agility egbert came for a weekend in his gritty thick sandpaper car key and putties and the hideous cap nay he looked terrible and on his face a slightly impure look a little sore on his lip as if he had eaten too much or drunk too much or let his blood become a little unclean he was almost uglerly healthy with a camp life it did not suit him winnifred waited for him in a little passion of duty and sacrifice willing to serve the soldier if not the man it only made him feel a little more ugly inside the weekend was torment to him the memory of the camp the knowledge of the life he led there even the sight of his own legs in that abhorrent car key he felt as if the hideous cloth went into his blood and made it gritty and dirty then winifred so ready to serve the soldier when she repudiated the man and this made the grit worse between his teeth and the children running around playing and calling in the rather mincing fashion of children who have nurses and governesses and literature in the family and joy so lame it had all become unreal to him after the camp it only set his soul on edge he left at dawn on the monday morning glad to get back to the realness and vulgarity of the camp winnifred would never meet him again at the cottage only in london where the world was with them but sometimes he came alone to crockham perhaps when friends were staying there

and then he would work a while in his garden this summer still it would flame with blue ancusers and big red poppies the malains would sway their soft down erections in the air he loved mulains and the honeysuckle would stream out scent like memory when the owl was wooing then he sat by the fire with the friends and with winifred sisters and they sang the folk songs he put on thin civilian clothes and his charm and his beauty and the supple dominancy of his body glowed out again but winifred was not there at the end of the summer he went to flanders into action he seemed already to have gone out of life beyond the pale of life he hardly remembered his life any more being like a man who is going to take a jump from a height and is only looking to where he must land he was twice slightly wounded in two months but not enough to put him off duty for more than a day or two they were retiring again holding the enemy back he was in the rear Three machine guns. The country was all pleasant. War had not yet trampled it.

Only the air seemed shattered, and the land awaiting death. It was a small unimportant action in which he was engaged. The guns were stationed on a little bushy hillock just outside a village, but occasionally it was difficult to say from which direction came the sharp,

crappical rifle fire, and beyond. the far-off thud of cannon. The afternoon was wintry and cold. A lieutenant stood on a little iron platform at the top of the ladders, taking the sights and giving the aim, calling in a high tense mechanical voice.

Out of the sky came the sharp cry of the directions, then the warning numbers, then, fire! The shot went, the piston of the guns sprang back. There was a sharp explosion and a very faint film of smoke in the air. Then the other two guns fired, and there was a lull.

The officer was uncertain of the enemy's position. The thick clump of horse-chestnut trees below was without change. Only in the far distance, the sound of heavy firing continued, so far off as to give us sense of peace. The gorse bushes and either hand were dark, but a few sparks of flowers showed yellow. He noticed them almost unconsciously as he waited in the lull. He was in his shirt sleeves,

and the air came chill on his arms. Again his shirt was slit on the shoulders, and the flesh showed through. He was dirty and unkempt, but his face was quiet. so many things go out of consciousness before we come to the end of consciousness before him below was the high road running between high banks of grass and gorse he saw the whitish muddy tracks and deep scores in the road where the part of the regiment had retired now all was still sounds that came came from the outside the place where he stood was still chill, serene. The white church among the trees beyond seemed like a thought only. He moved into a lightning-like mechanical response at the sharp cry from the officer overhead. Mechanism, the pure mechanical action of obedience at the guns. Pure mechanical action at the guns. It left the soul unburdened, brooding in dark nakedness.

in the end the soul is alone brooding on the face of the uncreated flux as a bird on a dark sea nothing could be seen but the road and a crucifix knocked slanting and the dark autumnal fields and woods there appeared three horsemen on a little eminence very small on the crest of a ploughed field they were our own men of the enemy nothing the lull continued then suddenly came sharp orders and a new direction of the guns and an intense exciting activity yet at the centre the soul remained dark and aloof alone but even so it was the soul that heard the new sound the new deep pup of a gun that seemed to touch right upon the soul he kept up the rapid activity at the sound he kept up the rapid activity at the new sound the new deep pup of a gun that seemed to touch right upon the soul he kept up the rapid activity at the machine gun sweating but in his soul was the echo of the new deep sound deeper than life and in confirmation came the awful faint whistling of a shell advancing almost suddenly into a piercing tearing shriek that would tear through the membrane of life he heard it in his ears but he heard it also in his soul in tension there was relief when the thing had swung by and struck away beyond he heard the hoarseness of its explosion and the voice of the soldier calling to the horses but he did not turn round to look he only noticed a twig of holly with red berries full like a gift on to the road below not this time not this time whither thou goest

I will go. Did he say it to the shell or to whom? Whither thou goest, I will go. Then the faint whistling of another shell dawned, and his blood became small and still to receive it. It drew nearer, like some horrible blast of wind. His blood lost consciousness. But in the second of suspension, he saw the heavy shell swooped to earth,

into the rocky bushes on the right, and earth and stones poured up into the sky. It was as if he heard no sound. The earth and stones and fragments of bush fell to earth again, and there was the same unchanging peace. The Germans had got the aim. Would they move now? Would they retire? Yes.

The officer was giving the last light, rapid orders to fire before withdrawing. A shell passed unnoticed in the rapidity of action, and then into the silence, into the suspense where the soul brooded, finally crashed a noise under darkness and a moment's flaming agony and horror. Ah, he had seen the dark bird flying towards him, flying home this time. In one instant life and eternity went up in a conflagration of agony then there was a weight of darkness when faintly something began to struggle in the darkness a consciousness of himself he was aware of a great load and a clanging sound to have known the moment of death and to be forced before dying to review it so fate even in death there was a resounding of pain it seemed to sound from the outside of his consciousness like a loud bell clanging very near yet he knew it was himself he must associate himself with it

after a lapse and a new effort he identified a pain in his head a large pain that clanged and resounded so far he could identify himself with himself then there was a lapse After a time he seemed to wake up again, and waking to know that he was at the front, and that he was killed. He did not open his eyes. Light was not yet his. The clanging pain in his head rang out the rest of his consciousness. So he lapsed away from consciousness, in unutterable sick abandon of life.

Bit by bit, like a doom, came the necessity to know. he was hit in the head it was only a vague surmise at first but in the swinging of the pendulum of pain swinging ever nearer and nearer to touch him into an agony of consciousness and a consciousness of agony gradually the knowledge emerged he must be hit in the head hit on the left brow if so there would be blood was there blood could he feel blood in his left eye then the clanging seemed to burst the membrane of his brain like death madness was there blood on his face was hot blood flowing or was it dry blood congealing down his cheek it took him hours even to ask the question time being no more than an agony in darkness without measurement a long time after he had opened his eyes he realised he was seeing something Something. Something. But the effort to recall what was too great? No, no, no, no recall.

Were they the stars in the dark sky? Was it possible it was stars in the dark sky? Stars, the world? Ah, no, he could not know it. Stars and the world were gone for him. He closed his eyes. No stars, no sky. no world no no the thick darkness of blood alone it should be one great lapse into the thick darkness of blood in agony

death oh death the world all blood and the blood all writhing with death the soul like the tiniest little light out on a dark sea the sea of blood and the light guttering beating pulsing in a windless storm, wishing it could go out, yet unable. There had been life. There had been Winifred and his children. But the frail death-agony effort to catch at straws of memory, straws of life from the past, brought on to greater nausea, no, no, no, no, no, Winifred, no children, no world, no people. better the agony of dissolution ahead than the nausea of the effort backwards better the terrible work should go forward the dissolving into the black sea of death in the extremity of dissolution than that there should be any reaching back towards life to forget to forget utterly utterly to forget in the great forgetting of death to break the core of death to break the core

in the unit of life and to lapse out on the great darkness only that to break the clue and mingle and commingle with the one darkness without afterwards or forwards let the black sea of death itself solve the problem of futurity let the will of man break and give up what was that a light a terrible light was it figures was it legs of a horse colossal colossal above him huge huge the germans heard a slight noise and started then in the glare of a light bomb by the side of the heap of earth thrown up by the shell they saw the dead face end of section three section four of england my england by d h lawrence this librevox recording is in the public domain recording by antony ogus tickets please there is in the midlands a single-line tramway system which boldly leaves the county town and plunges off into the black industrial countryside up hill and down dale through the long ugly villages of workmen's houses over canals and railways past churches perched high and nobly over the smoke and shadows through stark grimy cold little market-places tilting away in a rush past cinemas and shops down to the hollow where the collieries are then up again past a little rural church under the ash-trees on in a rush to the terminus the last little ugly place of industry the cold little town that shivers on the edge of the wild gloomy country beyond there the green and creamy coloured tram car seems to pause and purr with curious satisfaction but in a few minutes the clock on the turret of the co-operative wholesale society shops gives the time away it starts once more on the adventure again there are the reckless swoops down hill bouncing the loops again the chilly weight in the hilltop market-place

again the breathless slithering round the precipitous drop under the church again the patient halts at the loops waiting for the outcoming car so on and on for two long hours till at last the city looms beyond the fat gas-works the narrow factories draw near we are in the sordid streets of the great town once more we sidel to a sand still at our terminus a bad by the great crimson and cream-coloured city cars, but still perky, jaunty, somewhat daredevil, green as a jaunty sprig of parsley, out of a black colliery garden. To ride on these cars is always an adventure. Since we're in wartime,

the drivers and men unfit for active service, cripples and hunchbacks. So they have the spirit of the devil in them. the ride becomes a steeple-chase hurrah we have leapt in a clear jump over the canal bridges now for the four-lane corner with a shriek and a trail of sparks we are clear again to be sure a tram often leaps the rails but what matter it sits in a ditch till other trams come to haul it out it is quite common for a car packed with one solid mass of living people to come to a dead halt in the midst of unbroken blackness the heart of nowhere on a dark night and for the drive from the girl conductor to call oh get off cars on fire instead however of rushing out in a panic the passengers stolidly reply get on get on we're not coming out we're stopping where we are push on george so till flames actually appear the reason for this reluctance to dismount is that the nights are howlingly cold black and wind-swept and a car is a haven of refuge from village to village the miners travel for a change of cinema of girl of pub

the trams are desperately packed who is going to risk himself in the black gulf outside to wait perhaps an hour for another tram then to see the front of the front of the farms are desperately packed who is going to risk himself in the black gulf outside to wait perhaps an hour for another tram then to see the forelaw notice depot only, because there is something wrong, or to greet a unit of three bright cars, all so tight with people, that they sailed past with a howl of derision, trams that pass in the night. This the most dangerous tram service in England, as the authorities themselves declare with pride, is entirely conducted by girls and driven by rash young men, a little crippled, or by delicate young men who creep forward in terror. The girls are fearless young husses. In their ugly blue uniform, skirts up to their knees, shapeless old peat caps on their heads, they have all the saint-foy of an old non-commissioned

officer. With a tram packed with howling colliers, roaring hymns downstairs, and a sort of antiphany of obscenities upstairs, the lasses are perfectly at their ease. They pounce on the ewes who try to evade their ticket machine. They push off the men at the end of their distance. They're not going to be done in the eye, not they. They fear nobody, and everybody fears them. Hello, Annie. Hello, Ted. Oh, mum, I caught Miss Stone. It's my belief you've got a heart of stone for you've trod on it again you shall keep it in your pocket replies miss stone and she goes sturdly upstairs in her high boots deets please she is peremptory suspicious and ready to hit first she can hold her own against ten thousand the step of that tram car is her thermopylae therefore there is a certain wild romance aboard these cars and in the sturdy buzzer of Annie herself.

The time for soft romance is in the morning, between ten o'clock and one, when things are rather slack, that is, except market day and Saturday. Thus Annie has time to look about her. Then she often hops off a car and into a shop where she has spied

something, while the driver chats in the main road. There is very good feeling between the girls and the drivers. Are they not companions in peril, shipments aboard this careering vessel of a tram car, for ever rocking on the waves of a stormy land. Then also during the easy hours the inspectors are most in evidence. For some reason, everybody employed in this tram service is young. There are no grey heads. It would not do. Therefore the inspectors are of the right age. And one, the chief, is also good-looking see him stand on a wet gloomy morning in his long oiled skin his peak cap well down over his eyes waiting to board a car his face is ruddy his small brown moustache is weathered he has a faint impudent smile fairly tall and agile even in his waterproof he springs aboard a car and greets annie hello annie keeping the wet out

trying to there are only two people in the car inspecting is soon over then for a long and impudent chat on the footboard a good easy twelve-mile chat the inspector's name is john thomas rayner always called john thomas except sometimes in malice coddy his face sets in fury when he is addressed from a distance with this abbreviation there is considerable scandal about john thomas in half a dozen villages he flirts with the girl conductors in the morning and walks out with them in the dark night when they leave their tram car at the depot of course the girls quit the service frequently then he flirts and walks out with a newcomer always providing she is sufficiently attractive and that she will consent to walk it is remarkable however that most of the girls are quite comely they are all young and this roving life aboard the car gives them a sailor's dash and recklessness what matter how they behave when the ship is in port to-morrow they will be aboard again annie however was something of a tartar and her sharp tongue had kept john thomas at arm's length for many months perhaps therefore she liked him all the more for he always came up smiling with impudence she watched him vanquish one girl then another she could tell by the movement of his mouth and eyes when he flirted with her in the morning it had been walking out with this lass or the other the night before a fine cock of the walk he was she could sum him up pretty well

in this subtle antagonism they knew each other like old friends they were as shrewd with one another almost as man and wife but annie had always kept him sufficiently at arm's length besides she had a boy of her own the statutes fair however came in november at bestwood it happened that annie had the monday night off it was a drizzling ugly night yet she dressed herself up and went to the fair ground she was alone but she expected soon to find a pal of some sort the roundabouts were veering round and grinding out their music the side shows were making as much commotion as possible in the cocoanut-shies there were no coconuts but artificial wartime substitutes which the lads declared were fastened into the irons there was a sad decline in brilliance and luxury none the less the ground was muddy as ever there was the same crush the press of faces lighted up by the flares and the electric lights the same smell of naphther and a few fried potatoes and of electricity who should be the first to greet miss annie on the show-ground but john thomas he had a black overcoat buttoned up to his chin and a tweed cap pulled down over his brows his face between was ruddy and smiling and handy as ever she knew so well the way his mouth moved she was very glad to have a boy to be at the statutes without a fellow was no fun instantly like the gallant he was he took her on the dragons grim-toothed roundabout switchbacks it was not nearly so exciting as a tram-car actually

but then to be seated in a shaking green dragon uplifted above the sea of bubble faces careering in a rickety fashion in the lower heavens whilst john thomas leaned over her his cigarette in his mouth was after all the right style she was a plump quick alive little creature so she was quite excited and happy john thomas made her stay on for the next round and therefore she could hardly for shame repulse him when he put his arm round her and drew her a little nearer to him in a very warm and cuddly manner besides he was fairly discreet he kept his movement as hidden as possible she looked down and saw that his red clean hand was out of sight of the crowd and they knew each other so well so they warmed up to the fair after the dragons they went on the horses john thomas paid each time so she could but be complacent he of course sat astride on the outer horse named black bess and she sat sideways towards him on the inner horse named wildfire but of course john thomas was not going to sit discreetly on black bess holding the brass bar round they spun and heaved in the light and round he swung on his wooden steed flinging one leg across her mount and perilously tipping up and down across the space half lying back, laughing at her. He was perfectly happy.

She was afraid her hat was on one side, but she was excited. He threw coits on a table and one for her two large, pale blue hatpins. And then, hearing the noise of the cinemas, announcing another performance, they climbed the boards and went in. Of course, during the... these performances pitch darkness falls from time to time when the machine goes wrong then there is a wild whooping and a loud smacking of simulated kisses in these moments john thomas drew annie towards him after all he had a wonderfully warm cosy way of holding a girl with his arm he seemed to make such a nice fit and after all it was pleasant to be so held so very comforting and cosy and nice He leaned over her, and she felt his breath on her hair. She knew he wanted to kiss her on the lips,

and after all he was so warm, and she fitted into him so softly. After all, she wanted him to touch her lips. But the light sprang up. She also started electrically and put her hat straight. He left his arm lying nonchantly behind her. Well, it was fun. exciting to be at the statutes with John Thomas. When the cinema was over, they went for a walk

across the dark, damp fields. He had all the arts of love-making. He was especially good at holding a girl when he sat with her on a style in the black, drizzling darkness. He seemed to be holding her in space against his own warmth and gratification, and his kisses were soft and slow and searching. So Annie walked out with John Thomas, though she kept her own boy dangling in the distance. Some of the tram girls chose to be huffy, but there you must take things as you find them in this life. There was no mistake about it. Annie liked John Thomas a good deal. She felt so rich and warm in herself whenever he was near. And John Thomas really liked Annie. more than usual the soft melting way in which she could flow into a fellow as if she melted into his very bones was something rare and good he fully appreciated this

but with a developing acquaintance there began a developing intimacy annie wanted to consider him a person a man she wanted to take an intelligent interest in him and to have an intelligent response She did not want a mere nocturnal presence, which was what he was so far, and she prided herself that he could not leave her. Here she made a mistake. John Thomas intended to remain a nocturnal presence. He had no idea of becoming an all-round individual to her. When she started to take an intelligent interest in him and his life and his character, he sheared off.

He hated intelligent interest And he knew that the only way to stop it Was to avoid it The possessive female was aroused in Annie So he left her It is no use saying she was not surprised She was at first startled Thrown out of her count

For she had been so very sure of holding him For a while she was staggered And everything became uncertain to her then she wept with fury indignation desolation and misery then she had a spasm of despair and then when he came still impotently on to her car still familiar but letting her see by the movement of his head that he had gone away to somebody else for the time being and was enjoying pastures new then she determined to have her own back she had a very shrewd idea what girls john thomas had taken out she went to nora purdy nora was a tall rather pale but well-built girl with beautiful yellow hair she was rather secretive eh said annie accosting her then softly who's john thomas on with now i don't know said nora why thou does said annie ironically lapsing into dialect thou know's as well as i do well i do then said nora it isn't me so don't bother he's sissy mekin isn't it it is for all i know and he got a face on him said annie i don't half like his cheek i can knock him off the football when he comes round at me he'll get dropped on one of these days said nora i will when somebody makes up their mind to drop it in on him i should like to see him

him taken down a peg or two, shouldn't you? I shouldn't mind, said Nora. You've got quite as much cause to as I have, said Annie. But we'll drop on him one of these days, my girl. What? Don't you want to? I don't mind, said Nora. But as a matter of fact, Nora was much more vindictive than Annie. One by one, Annie went the round of the old flames. It so happened that Sissy's meakin left the tramway service in quite a short time her mother made her leave then john thomas was on the quivieve he cast his eyes over his old flock and his eyes lighted on annie he thought she would be safe now besides he liked her she arranged to walk home with him on sunday night it so happened that her car would be in the depot at half-past night the last car would come in at ten fifteen so john thomas was to wait for her there at the depot the girls had a little waiting-room of their own it was quite rough but cosy with a fire and an oven and a mirror and table and wooden chairs the half-dozen girls who knew john thomas only too well had arranged to take service this sunday afternoon so as the cars begun to come in

in early, the girls dropped into the waiting-room, and instead of hurrying off home, they sat around the fire and had a cup of tea. Outside was the darkness and lawlessness of wartime. John Thomas came on the car after Annie at about quarter to ten. He poked his head easily into the girl's waiting-room. Prayer-meeting? he asked. Aye, said Laura Sharp. Ladies only. hurts me said john thomas it was one of his favourite exclamations shut the door boy said muriel baggaly on which side of me said john thomas which the likes said polly burkin he had come in and closed the door behind him the girls moved in their circle to make a place for him near the fire he took off his great coat and pushed back his hat who handles a teapot he said nor a purdy silently poured him out a cup of tea what bit my dreadn dripping said muriel baggley to him ay give us a bit and he began to eat his piece of bread in no place like home girls he said they all looked at him as he uttered this piece of impudence he seemed to be sunning himself in the presence of so many damsels

especially if you're not afraid to go home in the dark said laura sharp me by myself i am they sat till they heard the last tram come in in a few minutes emma housley entered come on my old duck cried polly burkin he's perishing said emma holding her fingers to the fire but i'm afraid to-but i'm afraid to go home in the dark sang laura sharp the tune having got into her mind are you going with to-night john thomas asked muriel bagley coolly to-night said john thomas oh i'm going home by myself to-night all on my lonely oh that's me said nora purdy using his own ejaculation the girls laughed shrilly me as well nora said john thomas don't know what you mean said laura here i'm toddling said he rising and reaching for his overcoat nay said polly we're all here waiting for you we've got to be up in good time in the morning he said in the benevolent official manner they all laughed nay said muriel don't leave us all lonely john thomas take one i'll take the lot if you like he responded gallantly that you won't either said Muriel. Two's company.

Seven's too much of a good thing. No, take one, said Laura. Fair and square all above board and say which. Aye, cried Annie, speaking for the first time. Pick John Thomas, let's hear thee. No, he said, I'm going home quite tonight, feeling good for once. Whereabouts, said Annie.

Take a good and then. but that's got to take one of us. No, how can I take one? He said, laughing uneasily. I don't want to make enemies. It only make one, said Annie. The chosen one, added Laura. Oh my.

Who said girls? exclaimed John Thomas, again turning, as if to escape. Well, good night. No, you're going to make your pick, said Muriel. turn your face to the wall and say which one touches you go on we shall only just touch your back one of us go on turn your face to the wall and don't look and say which one touches you he was uneasy mistrusting them yet he had not the courage to break away they pushed him to a wall and stood him there with his face to it behind his back they all grimaced tittering he looked so comical He looked around uneasily.

Go on, he cried. You're looking, you're looking, they shouted. He turned his head away. And suddenly with a movement like a swift cat, Annie went forward and fetched him a box on the side of the head that sent his cap flying and himself staggering. He started round. But at Annie's signal they all flew at him,

slapping him pinching him pulling his hair they're more in fun than in spite or anger he however saw red his blue eyes flamed with strange fear as well as fury and he butted through the girls to the door it was locked he wrenched at it roused alert the girls stood round and looked at him he faced them at bay at that moment they were wronged at it rather horrifying to him as they stood in their short uniforms. He was distinctly afraid. Come on, John Thomas, come on, choose, said Annie. What are you after? Open the door, he said. We shan't, not till you have chosen, said Muriel. Chosen what, he said. Chosen the one you're going to marry, she replied. He hesitated a moment. Oh and the the blasted door he said and get back to your senses he spoke with official authority you've got to choose cried the girls come on cried annie looking at him in the eye come on come on he went forward rather vaguely she had taken off her belt and swinging it she fetched him a sharp blow over the head with a buckle end he sprang and seized her but immediately he had taken off her belt and swinging it she fetched him a sharp blow over the head with the buckle end he sprang and seized her but immediately

the other goals rushed upon him, pulling and tearing and beating him. Their blood was now thoroughly up. He was their sport now. They were going to have their own back out of him. Strange wild creatures, they hung on him and rushed at him to bear him down. His tunic was torn right up the back. Nora had hold at the back of his collar and was actually strangling him. Luckily the button burst. He struggled in a wild frenzy of fury and terror, almost mad terror. His tunic was simply torn off his back. His shirt sleeves were torn away. His arms were naked.

The girls rushed at him, clenched their hands on him, and pulled at him. Or they rushed at him and pushed him, butt at him with all their might. Or they struck him wild blows. He ducked and cringed and struck sideways. they became more intense. At last he was down. They rushed on him, kneeling on him. He had neither breath nor strength to move. His face was bleeding with a long scratch. His brow was bruised. Annie knelt on him, the other girls knelt and hung on to him. Their faces were flushed. Their hair wild, their eyes were all glittering strangely. he lay at last quite still with face averted as an animal lies when it is defeated and at the mercy of the captor sometimes his eye glanced back at the wild faces of the girls his breast rose heavily his wrists were torn now then my fellow gasped annie at length now then now at the sound of her terrifying cold triumph he suddenly started to struggle as an animal might but the girls threw themselves upon him with unnatural strength and power forcing him down yes now then gasped annie at length and there was a dead silence in which the thud of heart beating was to be heard

it was the suspense of pure silence in every soul now you know where you are said annie the sight of his white bear arm madame the girls he lay in a kind of trance of fear and antagonism they felt themselves filled with supernatural strength suddenly polly started to laugh to giggle wildly helplessly and emma and muriel joined in but annie and nora and laura remained the same tense watchful with gleaming eyes he winced away from these eyes yes said annie in a curious low tone secret and deadly yes You've got it now. You know what you've done, don't you? You know what you've done. He made no sound nor sign, but lay with bright averted eyes and averted bleeding face. You ought to be killed. That's what you ought, said Annie tensely. You ought to be killed. And there was a terrifying lust in her voice. Polly was ceasing to laugh and giving long-drawn oath.

and sighs as she came to herself. He's got to choose, she said vaguely. Oh, yes, he has, said Laura, with vindictive decision. Do you hear? Do you hear? said Annie. And with a sharp movement that made him wince, she turned his face to her. Do you hear, she repeated, shaking him. But he was quite dumb. She fetched him a sharp slap on the face.

he started and his eyes widened then his face darkened with defiance after all do you hear she repeated he only looked at her with hostile eyes speak she said putting her face devilishly near his what he said almost overcome you've got to choose she cried as if it were some terrible menace and as if it hurt her that she could not exact more what he said in fear choose your girl coddy you've got to choose her now and you'll get your neck broken if you play any more of your tricks my boy you're settled now there was a pause again he averted his face he was cunning in his overthrow. He did not give in to them really. No, not if they tore him to bits. All right, then, he said. I choose Annie.

His voice was strange and full of malice. Annie let go of him as if he had been a hot cold. He's chosen, Annie, said the girls in chorus. Me, cried Annie. She was still kneeling, but away from him. him. He was still lying prostrate with averted face. The girls grouped uneasily around. Me, repeated Annie, with a terrible bitter accent. Then she got up, roaring away from him with strange disgust and bitterness. I wouldn't touch him, she said. But her face quivered with a kind

of agony. She seemed as if she would fall. The other girls turned aside. he remained lying on the floor with his torn clothes and bleeding averted face oh if he's chosen said polly i don't want him you can choose again said annie with the same rather bitter hopelessness get up said polly lifting his shoulder get up he rose slowly a strange ragged dazed creature the girls eyed him from a distance curiously furtively dangerously who wants him cried laura roughly nobody they answered with contempt yet each one of them waited for him to look at her hoped he would look at her all except annie and something was broken in her he however kept his face closed and averted from the hall there was a silence of the end he picked up the torn pieces of his tunic without knowing what to do with them the girls stood about uneasily flushed panting tidying their hair and their dress unconsciously and watching him he looked at none of them he espied his cap in a corner and went and picked it up he put it on his head and one of the girls burst into a shrill hysteric laugh at the sight he presented.

He, however, took no heed, but went straight to wear his overcoat hung on a peg. The girls moved away from contact with him as if he had been an electric wire. He put on his coat and buttoned it down. Then he rolled his tunic rags into a bundle and stood before the locked door, dumbly.

"'Open the door, somebody!' said, said Laura. Annie's got the key, said one. Annie silently offered the key to the girls. Nora unlocked the door. Tip for tat, old man, she said. Show yourself a man and don't bear a grudge. But without a word or sign, he had opened the door and gone. His face closed. His head dropped. That'll learn him, said Laura. "'Goddie!' said Nora. "'Shut up, for God's sake!' cried Annie, fiercely, as if in torture. "'Well, I'm ready to go, Polly. Look sharp,' said Muriel.

The girls were all anxious to be off. They were tiding themselves hurriedly with mute, stupefied faces. End of Section 4. Section 5 of England by D.H. Lawrence. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Anthony Ogus. The Blind Man Isabel Pervin was listening for two sounds,

for the sound of wheels on the drive outside, and for the noise of her husband's footsteps in the hall. Her dearest and oldest friend, a man who seemed almost indispensable to her living, would drive up in the rainy dusk of, of the closing november day the trap had gone to fetch him from the station and her husband who had been blinded in flanders and who had a disfiguring mark on his brow would be coming in from the outhouses he had been home for a year now he was totally blind yet they had been very happy the grange was morris's own place the back was a farmstead and the Wernams, who occupied the rear premises, acted as farmers.

Isabel lived with her husband in the handsome rooms in front. She and he had been almost entirely alone together since he was wounded. They talked and sang and read together in a wonderful and unspeakable intimacy. Then she reviewed books for a Scottish newspaper, carrying on her old interest, and he occupied himself a good deal with the farm. Sightless he could still discuss everything with Wernham and he could also do a good deal of work about the place. Menial work, it is true, but it gave him satisfaction.

He milked the cows, carried in the pails, turned the separator, attended to the pigs and horses. Life was still very full and strangely serene for the blind man, peaceful with the almost incomprehensible peace of immediate contact in darkness with his wife he had a whole world rich and real and invisible they were newly and remotely happy he did not even regret the loss of his sight in these times of dark palpable joy a certain exultance swelled his soul but as time wore on sometimes the rich glamour would leave them. Sometimes, after months of this intensity, a sense of burden overcame Isabel,

a weariness, a terrible enui in that silent house approached between a colonnade of tall-shafted pines. Then she felt she would go mad, for she could not bear it. And sometimes he had devastating fits of depression, which seemed to lay waste his whole, being. It was worse than depression, a black misery when his own life was a torture to him,

and when his presence was unbearable to his wife. The dread went down to the roots of her soul as these black days recurred. In a kind of panic she tried to wrap herself up still furthering her husband. She forced the old spontaneous cheerfulness and joy to continue, But the effort it cost her was almost too much. She knew she could not keep it up. She felt she would scream with the strain and would give anything, anything, to escape. She longed to possess her husband utterly.

It gave her in order at joy to have him entirely to herself. And yet when again he was gone in a black and massive misery, she could not bear him. She could not bear herself. She wished she could be snatched. to weigh off the earth altogether anything rather than live at this cost dazed she schemed for a way out she invited friends she tried to give him some further connection with the outer world but it was no good after all their joy and suffering after their dark a great year of blindness and solitude and unspeakable nearness other people seemed to them both shallow prattling rather impertinent shallow prattle seemed presumptuous he became impatient and irritated she was wearied and so they lapsed into their solitude again for they preferred it

but now in a few weeks time her second baby would be born the first had died an infant when her husband first went out to france she looked with joy and relief to the coming of the second it would be her salvation but also she felt some anxiety she was thirty years old her husband was a year younger they both wanted the child very much yet she could not help feeling afraid she had her husband on her hands a terrible joy to her and a terrifying burden the child would occupy her love and a terrible child would occupy her love and a and then what of Morris? What would he do? If only she could feel that he too would be at peace and happy when the child came. She did so want to luxuriate in a rich physical satisfaction of maternity. But the man, what would he do? How could she provide for him? How avert those shattering black moods of his which destroyed them both? She sighed. with fear. But at this time Bertie Reed wrote to Isabel. He was her old friend, a second or third

cousin, a Scotchman, as she was a Scotch woman. They had been brought up near to one another, and all her life he had been her friend like a brother, but better than her own brothers. She loved him, though not in the marrying sense. There was a sort of kinship between them, an affinity. They understood one another. other instinctively. But Isabel would never have thought of marrying Bertie. It would have seemed like marrying in her own family. Bertie was a barrister and a man of letters, a Scotchman of the intellectual type, quick, ironical, sentimental, and on his knees before the woman he adored but did not want to marry. Morris Pervin was different. He came of a good

old country family. The Grange was not a very great distance from Oxford. He was passionate, sensitive, perhaps over-sensitive, wincing, a big fellow with heavy limbs and a forehead that flushed painfully. His mind was slow as if drugged by the strong provincial blood that beat in his veins. He was very sensitive to his own mental slowness, his feelings being quick and acute, so that he was just the opposite to Bertie, whose mind was much quicker than his emotions, which were not so very fine. From the first, the two men did not like each other.

Isabel felt they ought to get on together, but they did not. She felt that if only each could have the clue to the other, there would be such a rare understanding between them. It did not come off, however. Bertie adopted a slightly ironical attitude very offensive to Morris, who returned the Scotch irony with English resentment, a resentment which deepened sometimes into stupid hatred.

This was a little puzzling to Isabel. However, she accepted it in the course of things. Men were made freakish and unreasonable. Therefore, when Morris was going out to France for the second time, she felt that, for her husband's sake, she must discontinue her French name. with Bertie. She wrote to the barrister to this effect. Bertram Reed simply replied that in this, as in all other matters, he must obey her wishes if these were indeed her wishes. For nearly two years nothing had passed between the two friends. Isabel rather gloried in the fact. She had no compunction.

She had one great article of faith, which was that husband and wife, which was that husband and wife, should be so important to one another that the rest of the world simply did not count she and morris were husband and wife they loved one another they would have children then let everybody and everything else fade into insignificance outside this connubial felicity she professed herself quite happy and ready to receive morris's friends she was happy and ready the happy wife the happy wife the ready woman in possession. Without knowing why, the friends retired abashed and came no more. Morris, of course, took as much satisfaction in this connubial absorption as Isabel did. He shared in Isabel's literary activities. She cultivated a real interest in agriculture and cattle raising. For she, being at heart perhaps an emotional enthusiast, always culture. Always culture. the practical side of life and prided herself on her mastery of practical affairs thus the husband and wife had spent the five years of their married life the last would be one of blindness and unspeakable intimacy

and now isabel felt a great indifference coming over her a sort of lethargy she wanted to be allowed to bear her child in peace to nod by by the fire and drift vaguely physically from day to day. Morris was like an ominous thunder-cloud. She had to keep waking up to remember him. When a little note came from Bertie asking if he were to put up a tombstone to their dead friendship, and speaking of the real pain he felt on account of her husband's loss of sight, she felt a pang, a fluttering agitation of reawakening, and she read the letter to Morris.

Ask him to come down, he said. Ask Bertie to come here, she re-echoed. Yes, if he wants to. Isabel paused for a few moments. I know he wants to. He'd only be too glad, she replied. But what about you, Morris? How would you like it?

I should like it. well in that case but i thought you didn't care for him oh i don't know i might think differently of him now the blind man replied it was rather abstruse to isabel well dear she said if you're quite sure i'm sure enough let him come said morris so bertie was coming coming this evening in the november rain and darkness isabel was agitated racked with her old restlessness and indecision she had always suffered from this pain of doubt just an agonising sense of uncertainty it had begun to pass off in the lethargy of maternity now it returned and she resented it she struggled as usual to maintain her calm composed friendly bearing a sort of mask she wore over all her body a woman had lighted a tall lamp beside the table and spread the cloth the long dining-room was dim with its elegant but rather severe pieces of old furniture only the round table glowed softly under the light it had a rich beautiful effect the white cloth glistened and dropped its heavy pointed lace corners almost to the carpet the china was old and handsome creamy yellow with the blotched pattern of harsh red and deep blue the cups large and bell-shaped the teapot gallant isabel looked at it with superficial appreciation her nerves were hurting her she looked automatically again at the high uncurtained windows

in the last dusk she could just perceive outside a huge fir-tree swaying its boughs it was as if she thought it rather than saw it the rain came flying on the window-panes ah why had she no peace these two men why did they tear at her why did they not come why was there this suspense she sat in a lassitude that was really suspense and irritation morris at least might come in there was nothing to keep him out she rose to her feet catching sight of her own reflection in a mirror, she glanced at herself with a slight smile of recognition, as if she were an old friend to herself. Her face was oval and calm, her nose a little arched. Her neck made a beautiful line down to her shoulder. With hair knotted loosely behind, she had something of a warm maternal look. Thinking this of herself, she arched her eyebrows and her rather heavy eyelids, with a little flicker of a smile,

and for a moment her grey eyes looked amused and wicked, a little sardonic, out of her transfigured Madonna face. Then, resuming her air of womanly patience, she was really fatally self-determined, she went with a little jerk towards the door. Her eyes were slightly reddened. She passed down the wide hall and threw a door at the end, then she was in the farm premises.

The scent of dairy and of farm kitchen and of farm yard and of leather almost overcame her, but particularly the scent of dairy. They had been scalding out the pans. The flagged passage in front of her was dark, puddled and wet. Light came out from the open kitchen door. She went forward and stood in the doorway. the farm people were at tea seated at a little distance from her round a long narrow table in the centre of which stood a white lamp ruddy faces ruddy hands holding food red mouths working heads bent over the teacups men land girls boys it was tea-time feeding time some faces caught sight of her

mrs wernam going round behind the chairs with a large black teapot halting slightly in her walk was not aware of her for a moment then she turned suddenly ah is that madam she explained come in then come in we're at tea and she dragged forward a chair no i won't come in said isabel i am afraid i interrupt your meal no no not likely madam not likely hasn't miss pervin come in do you know i'm sure i couldn't say missed him have you madam no i only wanted him to come in laughed isabel as if shyly wanted him did you get you boy get up now mrs wernam knocked one of the boys on the shoulder he began to scrape to his feet chewing largely i believe he's in top's table said another face from the table ah no don't get up i'm going myself said isabel don't you go out of a dirty night like this let the lad go get along where you by said mrs wernam no no said isabel with a decision that was always obeyed go on with your tea tom i'd like to go across to the stable mrs wernam did you ever hear tell exclaimed the woman isn't the trap late asked isabel why no said mrs wernam peering into the distance at the tall dim club no madam we can give it another quarter or twenty minutes yet good yes every bit of a quarter ah it seems late when darkness falls so early said isabel et do that it do bother these days that they draw in so answered mrs wernam proper miserable they are said isabel withdrawing

she pulled on her overshoes wrapped a large tartan shawl around her put on a man's felt hat and ventured out along the causeways of the first yard it was very dark the wind was roaring in the great elms behind the outhouses when she came to the second yard the darkness seemed deeper she was unsure of her footing she wished she had brought a lantern rain blew against her half she liked it half she felt unwilling to battle she reached at last the just visible door of the stable there was no sign of a light anywhere opening the upper half she looked in into a simple well of darkness the smell of horses and ammonia and of warmth was startling to her in that full night she listened with all her ears but could hear nothing save the night and the stirring of a horse morris she called softly and musically though she was afraid morris are you there nothing came from the darkness she knew the rain and wind blew in upon the horses the hot animal life feeling it wrong she entered the stable and drew the lower half of the door she drew the lower half of the door shut, holding the upper part close. She did not stir because she was aware of the presence of the dark hindquarters of the horses, though she could not see them, and she was afraid. Something wild

stirred in her heart. She listened intensely. Then she heard a small noise in the distance, far away it seemed, the chink of a pan and a man's voice speaking a brief word. It will be Morris in the other part of the stable. She stood motionless waiting for him to come through the partition door. The horses were so terrifyingly near to her in the invisible. The loud jarring of the inner door latch made her start. The door was opened. She could hear and feel her husband entering and invisibly passing among the horses near to her, in darkness as they were, actively intermingled. the rather low sound of his voice as he spoke to the horses came velvety to her nerves how near he was and how invisible the darkness seemed to be in a strange swirl of violent life just upon her she turned giddy her presence of mind made her call quietly and musically morris morris dear yes yes he answered. Isabel? She saw nothing,

and the sound of his voice seemed to touch her. Hello, she answered cheerfully, straining her eyes to see him. He was still busy, attending to the horses near her, but she saw only darkness. It made her almost desperate.

Won't you come in, dear? She said. Yes, I'm coming. Just half a minute. Stand over now. "'Trap's not come, has it?' "'Not yet,' said Isabel.' "'His voice was pleasant and ordinary,

"'but it had a slight suggestion of the stable to her. "'She wished he would come away. "' Whilst he was so utterly invisible, "'she was afraid of him. "'How's the time?' he asked. "'Not yet six,' she replied. "'She disliked to answer into the dark. presently he came very near to her and she retreated out of doors the weather blows in here he said coming steadily forward feeling for the doors she shrank away at last she could dimly see him

but he won't have much of a drive he said as he closed the doors he won't indeed said isabel calmly watching the dark shape at the door give me your arm dear she said she pressed his arm close to her as she went but she longed to see him to look at him she was nervous he walked erect with face rather lifted but with a curious tentative movement of his powerful muscular legs she could feel the clever careful strong contact of his feet with the earth as she balanced against him. For a moment he was a tower of darkness to her, as if he rose out of the earth. In the house passage he wavered, and went cautiously, with a curious look of silence about him as he felt for the bench. Then he sat down heavily. He was a man with rather sloping shoulders, but with heavy limbs, powerful legs that seemed to know the earth. His head was a man with rather sloping shoulders, but with heavy limbs, powerful legs that seemed to know the earth. His head was a man with rather sloping shoulders,

His head was small, usually carried high and light. As he bent down to unfasten his gaiters and boots, he did not look blind. His hair was brown and crisp. His hands were large, reddish, intelligent, the veins stood out in the wrists, and his thighs and knees seemed massive. When he stood up, his face and neck was surcharged with blood.

The veins stood out on the waist. his temples. She did not look at his blindness. Isabel was always glad when they had passed through the dividing door into their own regions of repose and beauty. She was a little afraid of him out there in the animal grossness of the back. His bearing also changed as he smelt the familiar, indefinable odour that pervaded his wife's surroundings, a delicate, refined scent, very faintly spicy. Perhaps it came from the pot-pourri bowls. He stood at the foot of the stairs, arrested, listening. She watched him, and her heart sickened. He seemed to be listening to Fate.

He's not here yet, he said. I'll go up and change. "'Moris,' she said, "'you're not wishing he wouldn't come, are you?' "'I couldn't quite say,' he answered. "'I feel myself rather on the Kiviv.' "'I can see you are,' she answered, "'and she reached up and kissed his cheek. "'She saw his mouth relax into a slow smile.

"'What are you laughing at?' she said roguishly. "'You consoling me.' he answered nay she answered why should i console you you know we love each other you know how married we are what does anything else matter nothing at all my dear he felt for her face and touched it smiling you are all right aren't you he asked anxiously i'm wonderfully all right love she answered it's you i'm a little troubled about it at times. Why me? he said, touching her cheeks delicately with the tips of his fingers.

The touch had an almost hypnotising effect on her. He went upstairs. She saw him mount into the darkness, unseeing and unchanging. He did not know that the lamps on the upper corridor were unlighted. He went on into the darkness with

unchanging step. she heard him in the bathroom end of section five section six of england my england by d h lawrence this librevox recording is in the public domain recording by antony ogus purvin moved about almost unconsciously in his familiar surroundings dark though everything was he seemed to know the presence of objects before he touched them it was a pleasure to him to rock thus through a world of things carried on the flood in a sort of blood prescience he did not think much or trouble much so long as he kept this sheer immediacy of blood contact with the substantial world he was happy he wanted no intervention of visual consciousness in this state there was a certain rich positivity bordering sometimes on rapturous life seemed to move in him like a tide lapping and advancing enveloping all things darkly it was a pleasure to stretch forth the hand and meet the unseen object clasp it and possess it in pure contact he did not try to remember to visualize he did not want to the new way of consciousness substituted itself in him. The rich suffusion of this state generally kept him happy, reaching its culmination in the

consuming passion for his wife. But at times the flow would seem to be checked and thrown back. Then it would beat inside him like a tangled sea, and he was tortured in the shattered chaos of his own blood. he grew to dread this arrest this throwback this chaos inside himself when he seemed merely at the mercy of his own powerful and conflicting elements how to get some measure of control or surety this was the question and when the question rose maddening in him he would clinch his fists as if he would compel the whole universe to submit to him but it was in him but it was in vain he could not even compel himself to-night however he was still serene though little tremors of unreasonable exasperation ran through him he had to handle the razor very carefully as he shaved for it was not at one with him he was afraid of it his hearing also was too much sharpened he heard the woman lighting the lamps on the corridor and attending to the fire in the visitor's room and then as he went to his room he heard the trap arrive then came isabel's voice lifted and calling like a bell ringing is it you bertie have you come and a man's voice answered out of the wind hullo isabel there you are have you had a miserable drive have you had a miserable drive

i'm so sorry we couldn't send a closed carriage i can't see you at all you know i'm coming no i like the drive it was like pyrtshire well how are you you're looking fit as ever as far as i can see "'Oh, yes,' said Isabel. "'I'm wonderfully well. "'How are you?' "'Rather thin, I think. "'I'll work to death. "'Everybody's all cry. "'But I'm all right, sis.

"'How's Parvin? "'Isn't he here?' "'Oh, yes, he's upstairs changing. "'Yes, he's awfully well. "'Take off your wet things. "'I'll send them to be dried.' "'And how are you both in spirits? "'He doesn't fret?'

no no not at all no on the contrary really we've been wonderfully happy incredibly it's more than i can understand so wonderful the nearness and the peace ah well that's awfully good news they moved away purvin heard no more but a childish sense of desolation had come over him as he heard their brisk voices he seemed shut out like a child that is left out he was aimless and excluded he did not know what to do with himself the helpless desolation gave over him he fumbled nervously as he dressed himself in a state almost of childishness He disliked the Scotch accent in Bertie's speech And the slight response it found on Isabel's tongue He disliked the slight purr of complacency In the Scottish speech He disliked intensively

The glib way in which Isabel spoke of their happiness and nearness It made him recoil He was fretful and beside himself like a child He had almost a childish nostalgia to be included in the life's circle, and at the same time he was a man, dark and powerful, and infuriated by his own weakness.

By some fatal flaw, he could not be by himself. He had to depend on the support of another, and this very dependence enraged him. He hated Bertie Reed, and at the same time he knew the hatred was nonsense. He knew it was the outcome of his own weakness. he went downstairs isabel was alone in the dining-room she watched him enter head erect his feet tentative he looked so strong-blooded and healthy and at the same time cancelled

cancelled that was the word that flew across her mind perhaps it was his scars suggested it you heard bertie come morris she said yes isn't he here He's in his room. He looks very thin and worn. I suppose he works himself to death. A woman came in with a tray, and after a few minutes, Bertie came down. He was a little dark man with a very big forehead, thin, wispy hair, and sad, large eyes. His expression was inordinately sad, almost funny. He had odd short legs. isabel watched him hesitate under the door and glanced nervously at her husband purvin heard him and turned here you are now said isabel come let us eat bertie went across to morris hi purvin he said as he advanced the blind man stuck his hand out into space and bertie took it very fit glad you've come said said Morris. Isabel glanced at them

and glanced away, as if she could not bear to see them. Come, she said, come to table. Aren't you both awfully hungry? I am tremendously. I'm afraid you waited for me, said Bertie as they sat down.

Morris had a curious, monolithic way of sitting in a chair, erect and distant. Isabel's heart always beat when she caught sight of him thus. No, she replied to Bertie. We're very little later than usual. We're having a sort of high tea, not dinner.

Do you mind? He gives us such a nice long evening, uninterrupted. I like it, said Bertie. Morris was feeling with curious little movements, almost like a cat needing her bed, for his place, his knife and fork, his napkin. he was getting the whole geography of his cover into his consciousness he sat erect and inscrutable remote seeming bertie watched the static figure of the blind man the delicate tactile discernment of the large ruddy hands and the curious mindless silence of the brow above the scar with difficulty he looked away and without knowing what he did picked up a little crystal bowl of violets from the table

and held them to his nose. "'They are sweet-scented,' he said. "'Where have they come from?' "'From the garden under the windows,' said Isabel. "'So late in the year, and so fragrant. "'Do you remember the violets under Aunt Bell's Southwall?' The two friends looked at each other and exchanged a smile, "'Isabel's eyes lighting up.

"'Don't I?' she replied. "'Wasn't she queer?' a cure old girl laughed bertie there's a streak of freakishness in the family isabel ah but not in you and me bertie said isabel give them to morris will you she added as bertie was putting down the flowers have you smelled the violets dear do they are so scented morris held out his hand and bertie placed the tiny bowl against his large warm-looking fingers morris's hand closed over the thin white fingers of the barrister bertie carefully extricated himself then the two watched the blind man smelling the violets he bent his head and seemed to be thinking isabel waited aren't these sweet morris she said at last anxiously very he said and he held out the bowl bertie took it both he and isabel were a little afraid and deeply disturbed the meal continued isabel and bertie chatted spasmodically the blind man was silent he touched his food repeatedly with quick delicate touches of his knife-point then cut to regular bits he could not bear to be helped both isabel and bertie's

suffered. Isabel wondered why. She did not suffer when she was alone with Morris. Bertie made her conscious of a strangeness. After the meal the three drew their chairs to the fire and sat down to talk. The decanters were put on a table near at hand. Isabel knocked the logs on the fire and clouds of brilliant sparks went up the chimney. Bertie noticed a slight weariness in her bearing. You'll be glad when your child comes now, Isabel, he said. She looked up to him with a quick one smile. Yes, I shall be glad, she answered.

It begins to seem long. Yes, I shall be very glad. So will you, Morris, won't you? She added. Yes, I shall, replied her husband. We're both looking forward so much to having it, she said. yes of course said bertie he was a bachelor three or four years older than isabel he lived in beautiful rooms overlooking the river guarded by a faithful scottish man-servant and he had his friends among the fair sex not lovers friends so long as he could avoid any danger of courtship or marriage he adored a few good women with constant and unfailing homage

and he was chivalrously fond of quite a number but if they seemed to encroach on him he withdrew and detested them isabel knew him very well knew his beautiful constancy and kindness also his incurable weakness which made him unable ever to enter into close contact of any sort he was ashamed of himself because he could not marry could not approach women physically he wanted to do so but he could not at the centre of him he was afraid helplessly and even brutally afraid he had given up hope had ceased to expect any more that he could escape his own weakness hence he was a brilliant and successful barrister also literator of high repute a rich man and a great social success. At the centre he felt himself neuter, nothing. Isabel knew him well. She despised him even while she admired him. She looked at his sad face, his little short legs,

and felt contempt of him. She looked at his dark grey eyes with their uncanny, almost childlike intuition, and she loved him. He understood amazingly, but she had no fear of his understanding. As a man she patronised him. And she turned to the impassive silent figure of her husband. He sat leaning back with folded arms and face a little up tilted.

His knees were straight and massive. She sighed, picked up the poker, and again began to prod the fire, to rouse the clouds of soft. brilliant sparks. Isabel tells me, Bertie began suddenly, that you have not suffered unbearably from the loss of sight? Morris straightened himself to attend and kept his arms folded.

No, he said, not unbearably. Now and again one struggles against it, you know, but there are compensations. They say it is much worse to be stone deaf, said Isabel. I believe it is. said Bertie. Are there compensations? he added to Morris. Yes, you cease to bother about a great many things. Again Morris stretched his figure, stretched the strong muscles of his back, and lean backwards with uplifted face. And that is relief, said Bertie. But what is there in the place of the bothering? What replaces the activity?

There was a pause. At length the blind man replied As out of a negligent, unattentive thinking Oh, I don't know There's a good deal when you're not active Is there? said Bertie What exactly? It always seems to me

When there is no thought and no action There is nothing Again Morris was slow in replying There is something He replied I couldn't tell you what it is and the talk lapsed once more isabel and bertie chatting gossip and reminiscence the blind man silent at length morris rose restlessly a big obtrusive figure he felt tight and hampered he wanted to go away do you mind he said if i go and speak to wernam no go along dear said isabel and he went out

a silence came over the two friends at length bertie said nevertheless it is a great deprivation cissy it is bertie i know it is something lacking all the time said bertie yes i know and yet and yet morris is right there is something else something there which you never knew was there and which you can't express "'What is there?' asked Bertie. "'I don't know. It's awfully hard to define it, but something strong and immediate. "'There's something strange in Morris's presence, indefinable. "'But I couldn't do without it. "'I agree that it seems to put one's minds asleep, "'but when we're alone, I miss nothing.

"'It seems awfully rich, almost splendid, you know. "'I'm afraid I don't follow.' said Bertie. They talked desultfully. The wind blew loudly outside, rain chattered on the window panes, making a sharp drum sound because of the closed mellow golden shutters inside.

The logs burned slowly with hot, almost invisible small flames. Bertie seemed uneasy. There were dark circles round his eyes. Isabel, rich with her approaching maternity, leaned looking into the fire. Her hair curled in odd loose strands, very pleasing to the man. But she had a curious feeling of old woe in her heart, old timeless night woe. I suppose we're all deficient somewhere, said Bertie.

I suppose so, said Isabel wearily. damn sooner or later i don't know she said rousing herself i feel quite all right you know the child coming seems to make me indifferent to everything just placid i can't feel that there's anything to trouble about you know a good thing i should say he replied slowly well there it is i suppose it's just nature if only i felt i need trouble about morris i should be perfectly content but you feel you must trouble about him well i don't know she even resented this much effort the evening passed slowly isabel looked at the cross-and-he looked at the clock. I say, she said, it's nearly ten o'clock. Where can Morris be? I'm sure they're all in bed at the back. Excuse me a moment. She went out, returning almost immediately. It's all shut up and in darkness, she said. I wonder where he is. He must have gone out to the farm. Bertie looked at her. I suppose he'll come in, he said. I suppose so.

she said, but it's unusual for him to be out now. Would you like me to go out and see? Well, if you wouldn't mind, I'd go, but she did not want to make the physical effort. Bertie put on an old overcoat and took a lantern. He went out from the side door. He shrank from the wet and roaring night. Such weather had a nervous effect on him. too much moisture everywhere made him feel almost imbecile unwilling he went through it all a dog barked violently at him he peered in all the buildings

at last as he opened the upper door of a sort of intermediate barn he heard a grinding noise and looked in holding up his lantern saw morris in his shirt-sleeves standing listening holding the handle of a handle of a little bit of a little bit of a handle of a little bit of a little of a little of a little of a little of a little of a little of a little of a turnip pulper. He had been pulping sweet roots, a pile of which lay dimly heaped in a corner behind him. "'That you, Wernham,' said Morris, listening. "'No, it's me,' said Bertie. A large, half-wild grey cat was rubbing at Morris's leg. The blind man stooped to rub its sides. Bertie watched the scene, then unconsciously entered and shut the door behind him. He was in a high sort of barn place from which right and left ran off the corridors in front of the stalled cattle. He watched the slow, stooping motion of the other man as he caressed the great cat. Morris straightened himself,

"'You came to look for me,' he said. "'Hisabal was a little uneasy,' said Bertie. "'I'll come in. I like missing about doing these jobs.' The cat had reared her sinister feline length against his leg, clawing at his thigh affectionately. He lifted her claws out of his flesh. "'I hope I'm not in your way at all at the Grange here,' said Bertie, rather shy and stiff.

"'My way? No, not a bit.' I'm glad Isabel had somebody to talk to. I'm afraid it's I who am in the way. I know I'm not very lively company. Isabel's all right, don't you think? She's not unhappy, is she? I don't think so. What does she say?

She says she's very content, only little troubled about you. Why me? Perhaps afraid that you might brood, said Bertie cautiously. She needn't even be a friend. afraid of that. He continued to caress the flattened grey head of the cat with his fingers. What I am a bit afraid of, he resumed, is that she'll find me a dead weight, always alone with me down here.

I don't think you need think that, said Bertie, though this was what he feared himself. I don't know, said Morris. Sometimes I feel it isn't fair that she's saddled with me then he dropped his voice curiously i say he asked secretly struggling is my face much disfigured do you mind telling me there is the scar said bertie wondering yes it is such a disfigurement but more pitiable than shocking a pretty bad scar though said morris oh yes there was a pause sometimes i feel i am horrible said morris in a low voice talking as if to himself and bertie actually felt a quiver of horror that's nonsense he said morris again straightened himself leaving the cat there's no telling he said then again in an odd tone he added i don't really know you do i probably not said bertie do you do you the lawyer shrank away instinctively and he had had a very philanthropy he said in a small voice not at all but he suffered as the blind man stretched out a strong naked hand to him morris accidentally knocked off bertie's hat i thought you were taller he said starting then he laid his hand on bertie reed's head closing the dome of the skull in the soft firm grasp, gathering it as it were. Then shifting his grasp and softly closing again with a

fine close pressure till he had covered the skull and the face of the smaller man, tracing the brows and touching the full closed eyes, touching the small nose and the nostrils, the rough short moustache, the mouth, the rather strong chin. The hand of the blind man grasped the shoulder the arm, the hand of the other man. He seemed to take him in the soft travelling grasp. You seem young, he said quietly at last. The lawyer stood almost annihilated, unable to answer. Your head seems tender as if you were young, Morris repeated.

So do your hands. Touch my eyes, will you? touch my scar now bertie quivered with revulsion yet he was under the power of the blind man as if hypnotised he lifted his hand and laid the fingers on the scar on the scarred eyes morris suddenly covered them with his own hand pressed the fingers of the other man upon his disfigured eye sockets trembling in every fibre and rocking slightly slowly from side to side. He remained thus for a minute or more, whilst Bertie stood as if in a swoon, unconscious, imprisoned. Then suddenly Morris removed the hand of the other man from his brow, and stood holding it in his own. Oh my God, he said. We shall know each other now, shan't we? We shall know each other now. Bertie could not answer. He gazed, mused,

and terror struck, overcome by his own weakness. He knew he could not answer. He had an unreasonable fear lest the other man should suddenly destroy him, whereas Morris was actually filled with hot, poignant love, the passion of friendship. Perhaps it was this very passion of friendship which Bertie shrank from most. We're all right together now, aren't we? said Morris. It's all right, now, as long as we live, so far as we're concerned. Yes, said Bertie, trying by any means to escape. Morris stood with head lifted as if listening. The new delicate fulfilment of mortal friendship

had come as a revelation and surprise to him, something exquisite and unhoped for. He seemed to be listening to hear if it were real. then he turned for his coat Come, he said, we'll go to Isabel. Bertie took the lantern and opened the door. The cat disappeared. The two men went in silence along the causeways.

Isabel, as they came, thought their footsteps sounded strange. She looked up pathetically and anxiously for their entrance. There seemed a curious elation about Morris. Bertie was haggard with sunken eyes. What is it? she asked. We've become friends, said Morris, standing with his feet apart, like a strange colossus. Friends, re-echoed Isabel.

And she looked again at Bertie. He met her eyes with a furtive, haggard look. His eyes was as if glazed with misery. I'm so glad, she said, in sheer perplexity. Yes, said Morris. He was indeed so glad. Isabel took his hand with both hers and held it fast. You'll be happier now, dear, she said.

But she was watching Bertie. She knew that he had one desire to escape from this intimacy, with his friendship which had been thrust upon him. He could not bear it that he had been touched by the blind man. His insane reserve broken in. He was like a moscuse whose shell is broken. End of Section 6. Section 7 of England by English by D.H. Lawrence.

This Libre of Vox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Anthony Ogus. Monkey nuts. at first joe thought the job okay he was loading hay on the trucks along with albert the corporal the two men were pleasantly billeted in a cottage not far from the station they were of their own masters for joe never thought of albert as a master and the little sidings of the tiny village station was as pleasant a place as you could wish for on one side beyond the line stretched the woods on the other the near side across a green smooth field red houses were dotted among flowering apple trees the weather being sunny work being easy albert a real good pal what life could be better after flanders it was heaven itself albert the corporal was a clean-shaven shrewd-looking fellow of about forty he seemed to think his one aim in life was to be full of fun and nonsense in repose his face looked a little withered old he was a very good pal to joe steady decent and grave under all his mischief for his mischief was only his laborious way of skirting his own ennui

joe was much younger than albert only twenty-three he was a tallish quiet youth pleasant-looking he was of a slightly better class than his corporal more personable careful about his appearance he shaved every day i haven't got much of a face said albert if i was to shave every day like you joe i should have none there was plenty of life in the little goods yard Three porter-youths, a continual come-and-go of farm wagons bringing hay, wagons with timber from the woods, coal carts loading at the trucks. The black coals seemed to make the place sleepier, hotter. Around the big white gate, the station-master's children played and his white chickens walked, while the station-master himself, a young man getting too fat, helped his wife to peg out the washing on the clothes line in the meadow. The great boat-shaped wagons came up from Playcross with the hay. At first the farmmen waggoned it. On the third day one of the land girls appeared with the

first load, drawing to a standstill easily at the head of her two great horses. She was a buxom girl, young in linen overalls and gaiters. Her face was ruddy. She had large, blue eyes. Now that's a waggoner for us, boys, said the corporal loudly. Woo! she said to her horses, and then to the corporal, which boys do you mean? We are the big of the bunch. That's Joe, my pal. Don't you let on that my name's Albert, said the corporal to his private. I'm the corporal. And I'm Miss Stokes, said the land girl coolly. If that's all the boys you are, you know you couldn't want more miss stokes said albert politely joe who was bareheaded whose grey flannel sleeves were rolled up to the elbow and whose shirt was open at the breast looked modestly aside as if he had no part in the affair

are you on this job regular then said the corporal to miss stokes i don't know for sure she said pushing a piece of hair under her hat and a little bit of her hat and a little bit of her attending to her splendid horses. Oh, make it a certainty, said Albert. She did not reply. She turned and looked over the two men coolly. She was pretty, moderately blonde, with crisp hair,

a good skin and large blue eyes. She was strong, too, and the work went on leisurely and easily. No, said the corporal, stopping as usual to look round. pleasant company makes work a pleasure. Don't hurry it, boys. He stood on the truck surveying the world. That was one of his great and absorbing occupations to stand and look out on things in general. Joe also standing on the truck also turned round to look what was to be seen, but he could not become blankly absorbed as Albert could.

Miss Stokes watched the two men from under her broad felt hat. She had seen hundreds of albert's khaki soldiers standing in loose attitudes, absorbed in watching nothing in particular. She had seen also a good many Joes, quiet, good-looking young soldiers with half-averted faces. But there was something in the turn of Joe's head, and something in his quiet, tender-looking form, young and fresh, which attracted her eye. As she watched him closely from below, he turned as if he felt her, and his dark blue eye met her straight, light-blue gaze.

He faltered and turned aside again, and looked as if he were going to fall off the truck. A slight flush mounted under the girl's full ruddy face. she liked him. Always after this when she came into the sidings with her team, it was Joe, she looked for. She acknowledged to herself that she was sweet on him, but Albert did all the talking. He was so full of fun and nonsense.

Joe was a very shy bird, very brief and remote in his answers. Miss Stokes was driven to indulge in repartee with Albert, but she fixed her magnetic attention on the younger fellow joe would talk with albert and laugh at his jokes but miss stokes could get little out of him she had to depend on her silent forces they were more effective than might be imagined suddenly on saturday afternoon at about two o'clock joe received a bolt from the blue a telegram meet me belbury station six p m to-day m s he knew at once who m s was his heart melted he felt weak as if he had had a blow what's a trouble boy asked albert anxiously no no trouble it's to meet the somebody. Joe lifted his dark blue eyes in confusion towards his corporal. "'Mate somebody,' repeated the corporal, watching his young pal with keen blue eyes.

"'It's all right, then? Nothing wrong?' "'No, nothing wrong. I'm not going,' said Joe. Albert was old and shrewd enough to see that nothing more should be said before the housewife. He also saw that Joe did not want to take him into confidence, so he held his peace there who has peaked. The two soldiers went into town, smartened up. Albert knew a fair number of the boys roundabout. There'll be plenty of gossip in the marketplace,

plenty of lounging in groups on the Bath Road, watching the Saturday evening shoppers, then a modest drink or two, and the movies. they passed some agreeable casual nothing in particular evening with which joe was quite satisfied he thought of belbury station and of m s waiting there he had not the faintest intention of meeting her and he had not the faintest intention of telling albert and yet when the two men were in their bedroom half undressed joe suddenly held out the telegram to his corporal saying what do you think of that albert was just unbuttoning his braces he desisted took the telegram form and turned towards the candle to read it meet me belbury station six p m to-day m s he read soto voce his face took on its fun and nonsense look who's m s he asked looking shrewdly at joe you know as well as i do said joe non-committal m s repeated albert blamed if i know boy is it a woman

the conversation was carried on in tiny voices for fear of disturbing the householders i don't know said joe turning he looked full at albert the two men looked straight into each other's eyes there was a lurking grin in each of them well i'm blamed said albert at last throwing the telegram down emphatically on the bed what said joe grinning rather sheepishly his eyes clouded none the less albert sat on the bed and proceeded to undress nodding his head with mock gravity all the while joe watched him foolishly what he repeated faintly albert looked up at him with a knowing look if that isn't coming in it quick boy he said what the blazes what you been doing nothing said joe albert slowly shook his head as he sat on the side of the bed don't happen to me when i've been doing nothing he said and he proceeded to pull off his stockings joe turned away looking at himself in the mirror as he asked him unbuttoned his tunic. You didn't want to keep the appointment? Albert asked in a changed voice from the bedside.

Joe did not answer for a moment. Then he said, I made no appointment. Not saying you did, boy. Don't be nasty about it. I mean, you didn't want to answer the unknown person's summons. Shall I put it that way? No, said Joe.

What was the detain? herring motive, asked Albert, who was now lying on his back in bed. Oh, said Joe, suddenly looking round rather haughtily, I didn't want to. He had a well-balanced head and could take on a sudden distant bearing. Didn't want to. Didn't cotton on like, well, they be artful, the women. He mimicked his landlord. go in a bed boy don't loiter about as if you'd lost something albert turned over to sleep on monday miss stokes turned up as usual striding beside her team her woe was resonant and challenging she looked up at the truck as her steeds came to a standstill joe had turned aside and had his face averted from her she glanced him over save for his slender succulent tenderness, she would have despised him. She sized him up in a steady look.

Then she turned to Albert, who was looking down at her, and smiling in his mischievous turn. She knew his aspects by now. She looked straight back at him, though her eyes were hot. He saluted her. Beautiful morning, Miss Stokes! There he! she replied. "'Hansom is as handsome looks,' said Albert, "'which produce no response. "'Now, Joe, come on here,' said the corporal. "'Don't keep the ladies waiting.

"'It's a sign of a weak heart.' Joe turned and the work began. Nothing more was said for the time being. As a week went on, all parties became more comfortable. joe remained silent averted neutral a little on his dignity miss stokes was offhand and masterful albert was full of mischief the great theme was a circus which was coming to the market town on the following saturday you'll go to the circus miss stokes said albert i may go are you going certainly give us the pleasure of escorting you no thanks that's what i call a flat refusal what joe you don't mean they have no liking for our company miss stokes oh i don't know said miss stokes how many are there of you only me and joe how is that all she said satirically albert was little nonplussed isn't that enough for you he asked too many by half blurted out joe jeeringly in a sudden fit of uncouth rudeness that made both the others stare

oh i'll stand out the way boy if that's it said albert to joe then he turned mischievously to miss stokes he he wants to know what m stands for he said confidentially monkeys she replied turning to horses what's m s said albert monkey nuts she retorted leading off her team albert looked after her a little discomfited joe had flushed dark and cursed albert in his heart on the saturday afternoon the two soldiers took the train into town they would have to walk home they had tea at six o'clock and lounged about till half-past seven the circus was in a meadow near the river a great red and white striped tent caravan stood at the side a great crowd of people was gathered round the ticket caravan inside the tent the lamps were lighted shining on a ring of faces a great circular bank of faces round the green grassy centre along with some comrades the two soldiers packed themselves on a thin plank seat rather high they were delighted with the flaring lights the wild effect but the circus performance did not affect them deeply they admired the lady in black velvet with rose-purple legs who leapt so neatly on to the galloping horse they watched the feet of strength and laughed at the clown

but they felt a little patronising they missed the sensational drama of the cinema half-way through the performance joe was electrified to see the face of miss stokes not very far from him there she was in her car key and her felt hat as usual he pretended not to see her she was laughing at the clown she also pretended not to see him it was a blow to him and it made him angry he would not even mention it to albert least said soonest men did he liked to believe she had not seen him but he knew fatally that she had when they came out it was nearly eleven o'clock a lovely night with a moon and tall dark noble trees a magnificent may night joe and albert laughed and chaffed with the boys joe looked round frequently to see if he were safe from miss stokes it seemed so but there were six miles to walk home at last the two soldiers set off swathe swinging their canes. The road was white between tall hedges. Other stragglers were passing out of the town

towards the villages. The air was full of pleased excitement. They were drawing near to the village when they saw a dark figure ahead. Joe's heart sank with pure fear. It was a figure wheeling a bicycle, a land girl, Miss Stokes. Albert was ready with his nonsense.

Miss Stokes had a puncture. Let me wheel, the rattler, said Albert. Thank you, said Miss Stokes. You are kind. Oh, I'll be kinder than that if you'd show me how, said Albert. Are you sure, said Miss Stokes? Doubt my words, said Albert. That's cruel of you, Miss Stokes.

Miss Stokes walked between them, close to Joe. have you been to the circus she asked him yes he replied mildly have you been albert asked her yes i didn't see you she replied what you say so didn't see us didn't think us worth looking at began albert are not as handsome as the clown now and you didn't as much glance in our direction i'll call it downright oversight i never saw you reiterated miss stokes i didn't know you saw me that makes it worse said albert the road passed through a belt of dark pinewood the village and the branch road was very near miss stokes put out her fingers and felt for joe's hand as it swung at his side to say he was staggered is to put it mildly yet he allowed her softly to clasp his fingers for a few moments but he was a mortified youth at the cross-road they stopped miss stoke should turn off she had another mile to go you'll let us see you home said albert do me a kindness she said put my bike in your shed and take it to bakers on monday will you i'll sit up all night and mend it for you if you like no thanks and jo and i'll walk on ho ho ho sang albert jo joe joe what do you say that now boy

aren't you in luck's way and i get the blooming old bike for my pal consider it again miss stokes joe turned aside his face and did not speak oh well i will the grid do i i leave you boy i'm not keen on going any further barked out joe in an uncouth voice she ha'n't my choice the girl stood silent and watched the two men there now said albert think of that and it was me now but he was uncomfortable well miss stoke have me he added miss stokes stood quite still neither moved nor spoke and so the three remained for some time at the lane end at last joe began kicking the ground then he suddenly lifted his face at that moment miss stokes was as his side she put her arm delicately round his waist seems i'm the one extra don't you think albert inquired of the high bland moon joe had dropped his head and did not answer miss stokes stood with her arm lightly round his waist albert bowed saluted and bade good-night he walked away leaving the two standing miss stokes put a light pressure on joe's waist and drew him down the road they walked in silence the night was full of scent wild cherry the first bluebells still they walked in silence a nightingale was singing

they approached nearer and nearer till they stood close by his dark bush the powerful notes sounded from the cover almost like flashes of light then the interval of silence then the moaning notes almost like a dog faintly howling followed by the long rich trill and flashing notes then a short silence again miss stokes turned at last to joe she looked up at him and in the moonlight he saw her faintly smiling he felt maddened but helpless her arm was round his waist she drew him closely to her with a soft pressure that made all his bones rotten meanwhile albert was waiting at home he put on his overcoat for the fire was out and he had had malarial fever he looked fitfully at the daily men and he looked fitfully at the daily men and he had had aftly and the daily sketch but he saw nothing it seemed a long time he began to yawn widely even to nod at last joe came in albert looked at him keenly the young mound's brow was black his face sullen all right boy asked albert joe merely grunted for a reply there was nothing more to be got out of him, so they went to bed. Next day Joe was silent, sullen. Albert could make nothing of him. He proposed a walk after tea. I'm going somewhere,

said Joe. Where, monkey nuts? asked the corporal. But Joe's brow only became darker. So the days went by. Almost every evening Joe went off alone, returning late. He was sullen, taciturn, and had a hang-dog look, a curious way of dropping his head and looking dangerously from under his brows. And he and Albert did not get on so well any more with one another. For all his fun and nonsense, Albert was really irritable, soon made angry. And Joe's standoffish sulkiness and complete lack of confidence riled him, got on his nerves. His fun and nonsense took a biting, sarcastic turn, at which Joe's eyes glitter occasionally,

though the young man turned unheeding aside. Then again Joe would be full of odd, whimsical fun, outshining Albert himself. Miss Stokes still came to the station with the wane. monkey nuts Albert called her though not to her face for she was very clear and good looking almost she seemed to gleam

and Albert was a tiny bit afraid of her she very rarely addressed Joe whilst the hayloading was going on and that young man always turned his back to her he seemed thinner and his limber figure looked more slouching but still it had the tender attractive appearance especially from behind.

His tanned face, a little thinned and darkened, took a handsome, slightly sinister look. Come on, Joe, the corporal urged sharply one day. What are you doing, boy, looking for beetles on the bank? Joe turned round swiftly, almost menacing, to work. He's a different fellow these days, Miss Stokes, said Albert to the young woman. "'What's got him? Is it monkey-nuts that don't suit him, do you think?'

"'Chote with chaff, more like,' she retorted. "'It's as bad as feeding a threshing machine to have to listen to some folks.' "'As bad as what?' said Albert. "'You don't mean me, do you, Miss Stokes?' "'No,' she cried. "'I don't mean you.' Joe's face became dark red during these salads, but he said nothing. he would eye the young woman curiously as she swung so easily at the work and he had some of the look of a dog which is going to bite albert with his nerves on edge began to find the strain rather severe

the next saturday evening when joe came in more black-browed than ever he watched him determined to have it out with him when the boy went upstairs to bed the corporal followed him he closed the door behind him carefully sat on the bed and watched the younger man undressing and for once he spoke in a natural voice neither chaffing nor commanding what's gone wrong boy joe stopped a moment as if he had been shot then he went on unwinding his puttees and did not answer or look up you can hear can't you said Albert nettled. Yes, I can hear, said Joe, stooping over his putties till his face was purple. Then why don't you answer? Joe sat up.

He gave a long sideways look at the corporal. Then he lifted his eyes and stared at a crack in the ceiling. The corporal watched these movements shrewdly. And then what? he asked ironically. again joe turned and stared him in the face the corporal smiled very slightly but kindly they'll be murdered on one of these days said joe in a quiet unimpassioned voice so long as it's by daylight replied albert then he went over sat down by joe put his hand on his shoulder affectionately and continued well he went over sat down by joe put his hand on his shoulder affectionately and continued what is it boy what's gone wrong you can trust me can't you joe turned and looked curiously at the face so near to his it's nothing that's all he said laconically albert frowned then who's going to be murdered and who's going to do the murdering me or you which is it boy he smiled he smiled gently at the stupid youth looking straight at him

all the while into his eyes gradually the stupid hunted glowering look died out of joe's eyes he turned his head aside gently as one rousing from a spell i don't want her he said with fierce resentment then you needn't have her said albert what'd you go for boy but it wasn't as simple as all that joe made no one very much for remark. She's a smart-looking girl. What's wrong with her, my boy? I should have thought you're a lucky chap, myself. I don't want her, Joe barked with ferocity and resentment. Then tell her so and I've done, said Albert. He waited a while. There was no response. Why don't you? He added. Because I don't, confess Joe sulkily. Albert pondered, rubbed his head. You're too soft-hearted, that's where it is, boy.

You want your merrill dipping in cold water to tempt it. You're too soft-hearted. He laid his arm affectionately across the shoulders of the younger man. Joe seemed to yield a little towards him. When you're going to see her again? Albert asked. For a long time there was no answer. when is it boy persisted the softened voice of the corporal to-morrow confessed joe then let me go said albert let me go will you the morrow was sunday a sunny day but a cold evening the sky was grey the new foliage very green but the air was chill and depressing

albert walked briskly down the white road towards bealy he crossed a large plantation and followed a narrow by-road where blue speedwell flowers fell from the banks into the dust he walked swinging his cane with mixed sensations then having gone a certain length he turned and began to walk in the opposite direction so he saw a young woman approaching him she was wearing a wide hat of grey straw and a loose swinging dress of nigger grey velvet she walked with slow inevitability albert faltered a little as he approached her then he saluted her and his roguish slightly withered skin flushed she was staring straight into his face he fell in by her side saying impudently not so nice for a walk as it was is it she only stared at him he looked back at her you've seen me before you know he said grinning slightly perhaps you never noticed me oh i'm quite nice looking in a quiet way you know what but miss stokes did not speak she only stared with large icy blue eyes at him he became self-conscious lifted up his chin walked with his nose in the air and whistled at random so they went down the quiet deserted grey lane he was whistling the air i'm gilbert the filbert the colonel of the nuts at last she found her voice where's joe he thought you'd like a change they say varieties a sort of life that's why i'm mostly in pickle

where is he am i my brother's keeper he's gone his own ways where nay how am i to know not so far but he'll be back for supper he stopped in the middle of the lane he stopped facing her where's joe she asked he struck a careless attitude looked down the road this way and that lifted his eyebrows pushed his khaki cap on one side and answered he's not conducting the service to-night he asked me if i'd officiate why hasn't he come didn't want to i expect i wanted to she stared him up and down and he felt uncomfortable in his spine but maintained his air of nonchalance then she turned slowly on her heel and started to walk back the corporal went at her side you're not going back are you he pleaded why me and you we should get on your own like a house on fire. She took no heed, but walked on. He went uncomfortably at her side, making his funny remarks from time to time,

but she was as if stone deaf. He glanced at her, and to his dismay saw the tears running down her cheeks. He stopped suddenly and pushed back his cap. I say, you know, he began. But she was walking on, like an automaton and he had to hurry after her she never spoke to him at the gate of her farm she walked straight in as if he were not there he watched her disappear then he turned on his heel cursing silently puzzled lifting on his cap to scratch his head that night when they were in bed he remarked say joe boy strikes me you're well off without monkey-nut

good love us beans ain't in it so they slept in amity but they waited with some anxiety for the morrow it was a cold morning a grey sky shifting in a cold wind and threatening rain they watched the wagon come up the road and through the yard gates miss stokes with her team as usual her woe rang out like a war-whoop she faced up the road and through the yard gates miss stokes was with her team as usual her wo'o roo rang out like a war-whoop she faced up at the truck where the two men stood. Joe! she called to the averted figure which stood up in the wind. Oh, he turned unwillingly. She made a queer movement, lifting her head slightly in a sipping, half-inviting, half-commanding gesture, and Joe was crouching already to jump off the truck to obey her

when Albert put his hand on his shoulder. half a minute boy where are you off works work and nuts is nuts you stop here joe slowly straightened himself joe came the woman's clear call from below again joe looked at her but albert's hand was on his shoulder detaining him he stood half averted with his tail between his legs take your hand off him you said miss stokes yes major reported albert satirically she stood and watched joe her voice rang for the third time joe turned and looked at her and a slow jeering smile gathered on his face monkey nuts he replied in a tone mocking her call she turned white dead white the men thought she would fall albert began yelling to the porters up the line to come and help with the load he could yell like any non-commissioned officer upon occasion some way or other the wagon was unloaded the girl was gone joe and his corporal looked at one another and smiled slowly but they had a weight on their minds they were afraid they were reassured however when they found that miss stokes came no more with the hay as far as they were concerned she had vanished into oblivion

and joe felt more relieved even than he had felt when he heard the firing cease after the news had come that the armistice was signed end of section seven section eight of england by england by d h lawrence this lebrow vogue's recording is a in the public domain recording by antony ogus wintree peacock there was thin crisp snow on the ground the sky was blue the wind very cold the air clear farmers were just turning out the cows for an hour or so in the midday and the smell of cowsheds was unendurable as i entered tibble i noticed the ash twigs up in the sky were pale and luminous, passing into the blue. And then I saw the peacocks. There they were in the road before me, three of them,

and tailless, brown, speckled birds, with dark blue necks and ragged crests. They stepped archly over the filigree snow, and their bodies moved with slow motion like small, light, flat-bottomed boats. I admired them. They were curious,

then augusta wind caught them healed them over as if they were three frail boats opening their feathers like ragged sails they hopped and skipped with discomfort to get out of the draught of the wind and then in the lee of the walls they resumed their arch-wintry motion light and unballasted now their tails were gone indifferent they were indifferent to my presence i might have touched them they turned off to my to the shelter of an open shed. As I passed the end of the upper house, I saw a young woman just coming out of the back door. I had spoken to her in the summer. She recognised me at once and waved to me. She was carrying a pail, wearing a white apron that was longer than her preposterously short skirt,

and she had on the cotton bonnet. I took off my hat to her and was going on, but she put down her pale and darted with a swift furtive movement after me. Do you mind waiting a minute? She said. I'll be out in a minute. She gave me a slight odd smile and ran back. Her face was long and sallow and her nose rather red. But her gloomy black eyes softened caressively to me for a moment with that momentary humility which makes a man look lord of the earth. I stood in the road looking at the fluffy, dark red

young cattle that moored and seemed to bark at me. They seemed happy, frisky cattle, a little impudent, and either determined to go back into the warm shed, or determined not to go back, I could not decide which.

Presently the woman came forward again. Her head rather ducked, but she looked up at me and smiled, with that odd immediate intimacy, something witch-like and impossible. Sorry to keep you waiting, she said. Shall we stand in this cart-shed? It'll be more out of the wind.

So we stood among the shafts of the open cart-shed that faced the road. Then she looked down at the ground a little sideways, and I noticed a small black frown on her brows. She seemed to brood for a moment. then she looked straight into my eyes so that i blinked and wanted to turn my face aside she was searching me for something and her look was too near the frown was still on her keen sallow brow can you speak french she asked me abruptly more or less i replied i was supposed to learn it at school she said but i don't know a word she ducked her head and laughed with a slightly ugly grimace and rolling of her black eyes no good keeping your mind full of scraps i answered but she had turned aside her sallow long face and did not hear what i said suddenly again she looked at me she was searching and at the same time she smiled at me and her eyes looked softly darkly with infinite trustful humility into mine i was searching i was very time she smiled at me and her eyes looked softly darkly with infinite trustful humility into mine

i was being cajoled would you mind reading a letter for me in french she said her face immediately black and bitter-looking she glanced at me frowning not at all i said it's a letter to my husband she said still scrutinizing i looked at her and didn't quite realise she looked too far into me my wits were gone she glanced round then she looked at me shrewdly she drew a letter from her pocket and handed it to me it was addressed from france to lance corporal goyte at tibble i took out the letter and began to read it as mere words mon cher alfred it might have been a bit of a torn newspaper so i followed the script the trite phrases of a letter from a french-speaking girl to an english soldier i think of you always always do you think sometimes of me and then i vaguely realised that i was reading a man's private correspondence and yet how could one consider these trivial facile french phrases private nothing more trite and vulgar in the world than such a love-letter no newspaper more obvious therefore i read with a callous heart the effusions of the belgian damsel but then i gathered my attention for the letter went on notre cherb'tie bebe our dear little baby was born a week ago almost i died knowing you were far away and perhaps forgetting the fruit of our perfect love but the child comforted me he has the smiling eyes and virile

of his english father i pray to the mother of jesus to send me the dear father of my child that i may see him with my child in his arms and that we may be united in holy family love ah my alfred can i tell you how i miss you how i weep for you my thoughts are with you always i think of nothing but you i live for nothing but you and our dear baby if you do not come back to me soon i shall die and our child will die. But no, you cannot come back to me, but I can come to you, come to England with our child. If you do not wish to present me to your good mother and father,

you can meet me in some town, some city, for I shall be so frightened to be alone in England with my child, and no one to take care of us. Yes, I must come to you. I must bring my child, my little Alfred to his father, the big beautiful Alfred that I love so much. Oh, write and tell me where I shall come. I have some money.

I'm not a penniless creature. I have money for myself and my dear baby. I read to the end. It was signed, You're very happy and still more unhappy, Ely's. I suppose I must have been smiling. I can see it makes you laugh, said Mrs. Goyt, sardonically.

I looked up at her. It's a love letter. I know that, she said. There are too many Alfreds in it. One too many, I said. Oh, yes. And what does she say? Elisa? We know her name's Elisa. That's another thing. She grimaced a little, looking up at me with a mocking laugh.

Where did you get this letter? I said. Postman gave it me last week. And is your husband at home? I expect him home tonight. He's been wounded, you know, and we've been applying for him home. He was home about six weeks ago. He's been in Scotland since then. Oh, he was wounded in the leg.

Yes, he's all right, a great strapping fellow, but he's lame. He limps a bit. He expects he'll get his discharge, but I don't think he will. We married? we've been married six years and he joined up the first day of the war oh he thought he'd like the life he'd been through the south african war no he was sick of it fed up i'm living with his father and mother i've no home of my own now my people had a big farm over a thousand acres in oxfordshire not like here no oh they're very good to me his father and mother oh yes they couldn't be better they think more of me than of their own daughters but it's not like being in a place of your own is it you can't really do as you like no there's only me and his father and mother at home before the war oh he was anything he had a good education but he liked the farming better then he was a chauffeur that's how he knew french he was driving a gentleman in france for a long time

at this point the peacocks came round the corner on a puff of wind hello joey she called and one of the birds came forward on delicate legs its grey speckled back was very elegant it rolled its full dark blue neck as it moved to her she crouched down joey dear she said in an odd saturnine caressive voice you're bound to find me aren't you she put her face forward and the bird rolled his neck almost touching her face with his beak as if kissing her he loves you i said she twisted her face up at me with a laugh yes she said he loves me joey does then to the bird and i love joey don't i i do love joey and she smoothed his feathers for a moment then she rose saying he's an affectionate his affectionate his affectionate his affectionate his affectionate his affectionate i smiled at the roll of her bird oh yes he is she protested he came with me from my home seven years ago those others are his descendants but they're not like joy are they dear her voice rose at the end with a witch-like cry then she forgot the birds in the cart-shed and turned to business again i want you read that letter she said, read it, so that I know what it says. It's rather behind his back, I said.

Oh, never mind him, she cried. He's been behind my back long enough, all these four years. If he never did no worse things behind my back than I do behind his, he wouldn't have cause to grumble. You'll read me what it says. Now I felt a distinct reluctance to do as she bid. And yet I began, my dear alfred i guessed that much she said eliza's dear alfred she laughed how do you say it in french eliza i told her

and she repeated the name with great contempt elise go on she said you're not reading so i began i have been thinking of you sometimes have you been thinking of me several others as well beside her, I'll wager, said Mrs. Goit. Probably not, said I. And continued, A dear little baby was born here a week ago. Ah, can I tell you my feelings when I take my darling little brother into my arms? I bet it's his, cried Mrs. Goit. No, I said. It's her mother's. Don't you believe it, she cried.

It's a blind. You mark, it's her own right enough, aunt is? No, I said it's her mother's. He has sweet smiling eyes, but not like your beautiful English eyes. She suddenly struck her hand on her skirt with a wild motion and bent down, doubled with laughter. Then she rose and covered her face with her hand. I'm forced to laugh at the beautiful English eyes, she said. "'Aunt his eyes beautiful?' I asked.

"'Oh, yes, very, go on. "'Joe, dear, dear Joey, this is to the peacock. "'We miss you very much. We all miss you. "'We wish you were here to see the darling baby. "'Our, Alfred, how happy we were when you stayed with us. "'We all loved you so much. "'My mother will call the baby Alfred "'so that we shall never forget you.

of course it's his right enough cried mrs goit no i said it's the mothers uh my mother is very well my father came home yesterday on leave he is delighted with his son my little brother and wishes to have him named after you because you were so good to us all in that terrible time which i shall never forget i must weep now when i think of it well you are far away in england and perhaps i should she'll never see you again. How did you find your dear mother and father? I am so happy that your wound is better and that you can nearly walk. How did he find his dear wife? cried Mrs. Huyte. He never told her he had one. Think of taking the poor girl in like that. We are so pleased when you write to us, yet now you're in England you will forget the family you serve so well. A bit too well, cried the wife if it had not been for you we should not be alive now to grieve and to rejoice in this life that is so hard for us but we have recovered some of our losses and no longer feel the burden of poverty

the little alfred is a great comfort to me i hold him to my breast and think of the big good alfred and i whip to think that those times of suffering were perhaps the times of a great happiness that is gone forever oh but isn't it a shame to take a poor girl in like that cried mrs goit never to let on that he was married and raise her hopes i call it beastly i do you don't know i said you know how anxious women are to fall in love wife or no wife how could he help it if she was determined to fall in love with him he could have helped it if he'd wanted well i said we aren't all hero Oh, but that's different. The big good Alfred, did you ever hear such Tommy Rot in your life? Go on. What does she say at the end?

We shall be pleased to hear of your life in England. We all send many kind regards to your good parents. I wish you all happiness for your future days. You're very affectionate and ever-grateful Ely's. There was silence for a moment, during which Mrs. Goet remained, with her head dropped, sinister and abstracted. Suddenly she lifted her face, and her eyes flashed.

Oh, but I call it beastly. I call it mean to take a girl in like that. Nay, I said, probably hasn't taken her in at all. Do you think those French girls are such poor, innocent things? I guess she's a great deal more downy than he. Oh, he's one of the biggest fools that ever walked, she cried. there you are said i but it's his child right enough she said i don't think so said i'm sure of it oh well i said if you prefer to think that way what other reason has she for writing like that i went out into the road and looked at the cattle who is this driving the cows i said she too came out it's a boy from the next farm she said she said it's a boy from the next farm she said

"'Oh, well,' said I, "'those Belgian girls, "'you never know where their letters will end. "'And after all it's his affair. "'You needn't bother.' "'Oh!' she cried with rough scorn. "'It's not me that bothers, "'but it's the nasty meanness of it,

"'me writing him such loving letters.' "'She put her hand before her face "'and laughed malevolently, "'and sending him parcels all the time. "'You bet he fed that girl on my parcels.' i know he did it's just like him i'll bet they laughed together over my letters i bet anything they did nay said i he'd burn your letters for fear they'd give him away there was a black look on her yellow face suddenly a voice was heard calling she poked her head out of the shed and answered coolly all right then turning to me that's his mother looking after me she laughed into my face witch-like and we turned down the road when i awoke the morning after this episode i found the house darkened with deep soft snow which had blown against the large west windows covering them with a screen

i went outside and saw the valley all white and ghastly below me the trees beneath black and thin looking like wire the rock faces dark between the glistening shroud and the sky above sombre heavy yellowish dark much too heavy for this world below of hollow bluish whiteness figured with black i felt i was in a valley of the dead and i sensed i was a prisoner for the snow was everywhere deep and drifted in places so all the morning i remained in doors looking up the drive at the shrubs so heavily plumed with snow and the gase posts raised high with a foot or more of extra whiteness or i looked down into the white and black valley that was utterly motionless and beyond life a hollow sarcophagus Nothing stirred the whole day. No plume fell off with shrubs. The valley was as abstracted as a grove of death. I looked over at the tiny half-buried farms away on the bare uplands beyond the valley hollow, and I thought of Tybal in the snow, of the black witch-like little Mrs. Goit, and the snow seemed to lay me bare to influences I wanted to escape. in the faint glow of the half-clear light that came about four o'clock in the afternoon i was roused to see a motion in the snow away below near where the thorn-trees stood very black and dwarfed like a little savage group in the dismal white

i watched closely yes there was a flapping and a struggle a big bird it must be laboring in the snow i wondered our biggest birds in the very big bird in the snow i wondered our biggest birds in the valley with the large hawks that often hung flickering opposite my windows level with me but high above some prey on the steep valley side this was much too big for a hawk too big for any known bird i searched in my mind for the largest english wild birds geese buzzards still it laboured and strove then was still a dark spot then struck I struggled again. I went out of the house and down the steep slope at risk of breaking my leg between the rocks. I knew the ground so well, and as I got well shaken before I drew near the thorn trees. Yes, it was a bird. It was Joey. It was the grey-brown peacock with a blue neck. He was snow-wet and spent. Joey, Joey, dear, I said, staggering unevenly towards him. He looked so pathetic, rowing and struggling in the snow, too spent to rise, his blue neck stretching out and lying sometimes on the snow, his eye closing and opening quickly, his crest all battered.

Joey, dear, dear, I said caressingly to him. and at last he lay still blinking in the serge and furrowed snow whilst i came near and touched him stroked him gathered him under my arm he stretched his long wetted neck away from me as i held him none the less he was quiet in my arm too tired perhaps to struggle still he held his poor crested head away from me and seemed sometimes to droop to wilt as if he might suddenly die he was not so heavy as i expected yet it was a struggle to get up to the house with him again we set him down not too near the fire and gently wiped him with cloths he submitted only now and then stretched his soft neck away from us avoiding us helplessly then we set warm food by him i put it to his beak tried to make him eat but he ignored it he seemed to be ignorant of what we were doing recoiled inside himself inexplicably so we put him in a basket with cloths and left him crouching oblivious his food we put near him the blinds were drawn the house was warm it was night sometimes he stirred but mostly he huddled still leaning his queer-crested head on one side he touched no food and took no heed of sounds or movements we talked of brandy or stimulants but i realised we had best leave him alone

in the night however we heard him thumping about i got up anxiously with a candle he had eaten some food and scattered more making a mess and he was perched on the back of a heavy arm-chair so i concluded he was recovered or recovering the next day was clear and the snow had frozen so i decided to carry him back to tybal he consented after various flappings to sit in a big fish bag with his battered head peeping out with wild uneasiness. And so I set off with him, slithering down into the valley, making good progress down in the pale shadow beside the rushing waters, then climbing painfully up the arrested white valley side, plumed with clusters of young pine trees into the paler white radiance of the snowy upper regions where the wind cut fine. Joey seemed to watch all the time with wide, anxious, unseeing eye, brilliant and inscrutable. As I drew near to Tybal Township, he stirred

violently in the bag, though I do not know if he had recognised the place. Then, as I came to the sheds, he looked sharply from side to side and stretched his neck out long. I was a little afraid of him. He gave a loud, vehement yell, opening his sinister beak, and I stood still, looking at him as he struggled in the bag, shaken myself by his struggles, yet not thinking to release him. Mrs. Goit came darting past the end of the house, her head sticking forward in sharp scrutiny. She saw me and came forward. "'Have you got Joey?' she cried sharply as if I were a thief. I opened the bag and he flopped out, flapping as if he hated the touch of the snow now.

She gathered him up and put her lips to his beak. She was flushed and handsome, her eyes bright, her hair slack, thick, but more witch-like than ever. She did not speak. She had been followed by a grey-haired woman with a round rather sallow face and a slightly hostile bearing.

"'Did you bring him with you, then?' she asked sharply. I answered that I had rescued him the previous evening. From the background slowly approached a slender man with a grey moustache and large patches on his trousers. "'You've got him back again, I see,' he said to his daughter-in-law. His wife explained how I had found Joey. "'Ah!' went on the grey man. it were our alfred scared him off back your life he must have fly it over to valley i'm a thank the stars as he were fun maggie it a bit froze they're a bit nesh you know he concluded to me they are i answered this isn't their country no it isn't er replied mr goyte he spoke very slowly and deliberately quietly as if the soft pedal were always downed but he spoke very slowly and deliberately quietly as if the soft pedal were always downed

in his voice. He looked at his daughter-in-law as she crouched, flushed and dark before the peacock, which would lay its long blue neck for a moment along her lap. In spite of his grey moustache and thin grey hair, the elderly man had a face young and almost delicate like a young man's. His blue eyes twinkled with some inscrutable source of pleasure. His skin was fine and tender, his nose delicately arched his grey hair being slightly ruffled he had a debonair look as of a youth who is in love when tell him is come he said slowly and turning he called alfred alfred where t'gotten to then he turned again to the group get up then muggilus get up with thee thou me's much too bad of the bod a young man approached wearing rough khaki and knee breeches he was danish looking broad at the loins tis come back then said the father to the son leastwise he's been brought back flyd over the griflow the son looked at me he had a devil make care bearing his cap on one side his hands stuck in the front pockets of his breeches

but he said nothing. Shall you come in a minute, master? said the oldie woman to me. Oh, come in a hair cup of tea, a summit. You'll do with summit carrying that bird. Come on, Maggie Wench, let's go in. So we went indoors into the rather stuffy, overcrowded living room

that was too cosy and too warm. The sun followed last, standing in the doorway. the father talked to me. Maggie put out the teacups. The mother went into the dairy again. All right, the soap-up of it again now, Maggie, the father-in-law said, and then to me, "'It's not been very bright, and Alfred came home,

"'and the bird flying away. "'He come home a Wednesday night Alfred did. "'But are you know, didn't you? "'I, he come to Wednesday, "'and I reckon there were a bit of a two-dool between him, "'want there, Maggie. he twinkled maliciously to his daughter-in-law who was flushed brilliant and handsome oh be quiet father you're wound up by the sound of you she said to him as if crossly but she could never be cross with him he's got a collar back this morning continued the father-in-law slowly it's been heavy weather with her this task two days ah he'd been a north-east in a siege of wednesday

father do stop talking you'd wear the leg off an iron pot i can't think where you've found your tongue of all of a sudden said maggie with caressive sharpness i found it where i lost it aren't going in to come and sit thee down alfred but alfred turned and disappeared he got the monkey on his back over this letter job said the father secretly to me mother another another another another knows not about it. A lot of tomfoolery, isn't it? Ah, what's good of making a peck of trouble over what's far enough off? And they never come no near. No, not a smiter use. That's what I tell her. I should have taken no notice, aunt. Tree, what can't you expect?

The mother came in again, and the talk became general. Maggie flashed her eyes at me from time to time, complacent and satisfied moving among the men. I paid her little compliments, which she did not seem to hear. She attended to me with a kind of sinister witch-like graciousness, her dark head ducked between her shoulders, at once humble and powerful. She was happy as a child attending to her father-in-law and to me,

but there was something ominous between her eyebrows, as if a dark moth were settled there and something ominous in her bent hulking bearing she sat on a low stool by the fire near her father-in-law her head was dropped she seemed in the state of abstraction from time to time she would suddenly recover and look up at us laughing and chatting then she would forget again yet in a halt black forgetting she seemed very near to her to us the door having been opened the peacock came slowly in prancing calmly he went near to her and crouched down coiling his blue neck she glanced at him but almost as if she did not observe him the bird sat silent seeming to sleep and the woman also sat hulked and silent seemingly oblivious then once more there was a heavy step and alfred entered he looked at his wife and he looked at the peacock crouching by her he stood large in the doorway his hand stuck in front of him in his breeches pockets nobody spoke he turned on his heel and went out again i rose also to go maggie started as if coming to herself must you go she asked rising and coming near to me standing in front of me twisting her head sideways and looking up at me can't you stop a bit longer we can all be cosy to-day there's nothing to do outdoors

and she laughed showing her teeth oddly she had a long chin i said i must go the peacock uncoiled and coiled again his long blue neck as he lay on the hearth maggie still stood close in front of me so that i was acutely aware of my waistcoat buttons oh well she said you'll come again won't you do come again i promised come to tea one day yes do i promised one day the moment i went out of her presence i ceased utterly to exist for her as utterly as i ceased to exist for joey with her curious abstractness she forgot me again immediately i knew it as i left her yet she seemed almost in physical contact with me while i was with her the sky was all pallid again yellowish when i went out there was no sun the snow was blue and cold i hurried away down the hill musing on maggie the road made a loop down the sharp face of the slope as i went crunching over the laborious snow i became aware of a figure striding down the steep scarp to intercept me it was a man with his hands in front of him half stuck in his breeches pockets and his shoulders square a real farmer of the hills alfred of course he waited for me by the stone fence excuse me he said as i came up i came to halt in front of him and looked into his sullen blue eyes he had a certain odd haughtiness on his brows but his blue eyes stared insolently at me

do you know anything about a letter in french that my wife opened a letter of mine yes said i she asked me to read it to her he looked square at me he did not know exactly how to feel what was there in it he asked why i said don't you know she makes out she burnt it he said without showing it to you i asked he nodded slightly he seemed to be meditating as to what line of action he should take he wanted to know the contents of the letter he must know and therefore he must ask me for evidently his wife had taunted him at the same time no doubt he would like to wreak untold vengeance on my unfortunate person so he eyed me and i eyed him and neither of us spoke he did not want to repeat his request to me and yet i only looked at him and considered suddenly he threw back his head and glanced down the valley then he changed his position he was a horse soldier then he looked at me confidentially she burnt the blasted thing before i saw it he said well i answered slowly she doesn't know herself what was she didn't know herself what was was in it. He continued to watch me narrowly. I grinned to myself. I didn't like to read her out what there was in it, I continued. He suddenly flushed so that the veins in his neck stood out,

and he stirred again uncomfortably. The Belgian girl said her baby had been born a week ago and that they were going to call it Alfred, I told him. he met my eyes i was grinning he began to grin too good luck to her he said best of luck said i and what did you tell her he asked that the baby belonged to the old mother that it was a brother to your girl who was writing to you as a friend of the family he stood smiling with a long subtle malice of a father of a father that it was a brother to your girl who was writing to you as a friend of the family he stood smiling with the long subtle malice of a farmer. And did she take it in? he asked. As much as she took anything else. He stood grinning fixedly. Then he broke into a short laugh. Go for her! exclaimed cryptically. And then he laughed aloud once more, evidently feeling he had won a big move in his contest with his wife. What about the other woman? I asked.

who elise oh he shifted uneasily she was all right you'll be getting back to her i said he looked at me then he made a grimace with his mouth not me he said back a life it's a plant you don't think the shepty-bebe is a little alfred it might be he said only might yes and there's a lot of mites yes and there's a lot of mites and a pound of cheese, he laughed boisterously, but uneasily. What did she say exactly? he asked. I began to repeat as well as I could the phrases of the letter. My cher Alfred, figure to-tois, come I'm desolet. He listened with some confusion. When I had finished all I could remember, he said,

they know how to pitch you how to letter those belgian lasses practice said i they get plenty he said there was a pause oh well he said i've never got that letter anyhow the wind blew fine and keen in the sunshine across the snow i blew my nose and prepared to depart and she doesn't know anything he continued jerking his head up the hill in the direction of tibel she knows nothing but what i've said that is if she really burnt the letter i believe she burnt it he said for spite she's a little devil she is but i shall have it out with her his jaw was stubborn and sullen then suddenly he turned to me with a new note why he said why didn't you ring that bleeding peacock's neck that bleeding joey why i said what for i hate the brute he said i had a shot at him i laughed he stood and mused poor little ailies he murmured poor little alie's he murmured he murmured he murmured he murmured he murmured was she small petite i asked he jerked up his head no he said rather tall taller than your wife i suppose again he looked into my eyes and then once more he went into a loud burst of laughter that made the still snow deserted valley clap again god it's a knockout he said thoroughly amused then he stood at ease one foot out his hands in his breeches pockets in front of him his head thrown back a handsome figure of a man

but i'll do that blasted joey in he mused i ran down the hill shouting with laughter end of section eight section nine of england my england by d h lawrence This Libravox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Anthony Ogus. You touched me. The pottery house was a square, ugly brick house girt in by the wall that enclosed the whole grounds of the pottery itself. To be sure a privet hedge partly masked the house and its ground from the pottery yard and works, but only partly.

Through the hedge could be seen the dead. desolate yard and the many-windowed factory-like pottery, over the hedge could be seen the chimneys and the outhouses. But inside the hedge, a pleasant garden and lawn sloped down to a willow pool which had once supplied the works. The pottery itself was now closed, the great doors of the yard permanently shut. No more the great crates with yellow straw showing through stood in. in stacks by the packing-shed. No more the drays, drawn by great horses, rolled down the hill with a high load. No more the pottery lasses in their clay-coloured overalls, their faces and hair splashed with grey-fine mud, shrieked and larked with the men. All that was over.

We like it much better. Oh, much better, quieter, said Matilda Rockley. Oh, yes, scented me rockley her sister i'm sure you do agreed the visitor but whether the two rockley girls really liked it better or whether the only imagined they did is a question certainly their lives were much more grey and dreary now that the grey clay had ceased to spatter its mud and silt its dust over the premises they did not quite realise how they missed the shrieking shouting lasses whom they had known all their lives and disliked so much matilda and emmy were already old maids in a thorough industrial district it is not easy for the girls who have expectations above the common to find husbands the ugly industrial town was full of men young men who were ready to marry but they were all colliers or potty pottery hands, mere workmen. The Rockley girls would have about ten thousand pounds each when their father died, ten thousand pounds worth of profitable house property. It was not to be sneezed at. They felt through themselves and refrained from sneezing away such a fortune on any mere member of the proletariat. Consequently, bank clerks or non-conformist clergymen or even

school teachers having failed to come forward, Matilda had begun to give up all idea of ever leaving the pottery house. Matilda was a tall, thin, graceful fair girl with a rather large nose. She was the Mary to Emmys Martha. That is, Matilda loved painting and music and read a good many novels, whilst Emmy looked after the housekeeping. Amy was shorter, plumper than her sister, and she had no accomplishments. She looked up to Matilda, whose mind was naturally refined and sensible. In their quiet, melancholy way, the two girls were happy.

Their mother was dead, their father was ill also. He was an intelligent man who had had some education, but preferred to remain as if he were one with the rest of the working people. He had a passion for music and played the violin pretty well But now he was getting old He was very ill dying of a kidney disease He'd been rather a heavy whiskey drinker This quiet household with one servant-maid

Lived on year after year in the pottery house Friends came in, the girls went out The father drank himself more and more ill outside in the street there was a continual racket of the colliers and their dogs and children but inside the pottery wall was a deserted quiet in all this ointment there was one little fly ted rockley the father of the girls had had four daughters and no son as his girls grew he felt angry at finding himself always in a household of women he went off to london and adopted a boy out of a charity institution. Emmy was fourteen years old, and Matilda sixteen, when their father arrived home with his prodigy,

the boy of six, Hadrian. Hadrian was just an ordinary boy from a charity home, with ordinary brownish hair and ordinary bluish eyes, and of ordinary rather cockney speech. The Rockley girls, there were three at home at the time of his arrival, had resented his being sprung on them. He, with his watchful charity institution instinct, knew this at once. Though he was only six years old,

Hadrian had a subtle jeering look on his face when he regarded the three young women. They insisted he should address them as cousin, cousin Flora, cousin Matilda, cousin Emmy. He complied, but there seemed a moment. mockery in his tone. The girls, however, were kind-hearted by nature. Flora married and left home. Hadrian did very much as he pleased with Matilda and Emmy, though they had certain strictnesses. He grew up in the pottery house, and about the pottery premises, went to an elementary school,

and was invariably called Hadrian Rockley. He regarded Cousin Matilda and Cousin Emmy, with a certain laconic indifference was quiet and reticent in his ways the girls called him sly but that was unjust he was merely cautious and without frankness his uncle ted rockley understood him tacitly their natures were somewhat akin hadrian and the elderly man had a real but unemotional regard for one another when he was thirteen years old the boy was sent to a high school in the county town. He did not like it. His cousin Matilda had longed to make a little gentleman of him, but he refused to be made. He would give a little contemptuous curve to his lip and take on a shy, charity boy grin when refinement was thrust upon him. He played truant from the high school, sold his books, his cap with its badge, even his very scarf and pocket-handkerchief to his school fair, and went raking off heaven knows where with the money so he spent two very unsatisfactory years when he was fifteen he announced that he wanted to leave england and go to the colonies he had kept touch with the home

the rocklies knew that when hadrian made a declaration in his quiet half-during manner it was worse than useless to oppose him so at last the boy departed going to Canada under the protection of the institution to which he had belonged. He said goodbye to the Rocklies without a word of thanks and parted, it seemed, without a pang. Matilda and Emmy wept often to think of how he left them. Even on their father's face a queer look came. But Hadrian wrote very regularly from Canada. He had entered some electricity works near Montreal and was doing well. at last however the war came in his turn hadrian joined up and came to europe the rockley's saw nothing of him they lived on just the same in the pottery house ted rockley was dying of a sort of dropsy and in his heart he wanted to see the boy

when the armistice was signed had a long leave and wrote that he was coming home to the pottery house the girls were terribly fluttered to tell the truth they were a little afraid of hadrian matilda tall and thin was frail in her health both girls were warned with nursing their father to have hadrian a young man of twenty-one in the house with them after he had left them so coldly five years before was a try circumstance. They were in a flutter. Emmy persuaded her father to have his bed made finally in the morning room downstairs whilst his room upstairs was prepared for Hadrian. This was done and preparations were going on for the arrival when at ten o'clock in the morning the young man suddenly turned up quite unexpectedly. Cousin Emmy, with her hair bobbed up in absurd little bobs round her forehead, was busy polishing the stair rods, while Cousin Matilda was in the kitchen washing the drawing-room ornament in

a lather, her sleeves rolled back on her thin arms, and her head tied up oddly and coquettishly in a duster. Cousin Matilda blushed deep with mortification when the self-possessed young man walked in with his kit bag and put his cap on the sewing machine. He was little and self-confident, with a curious neatness about him that still suggested the charity institution. His face was brown. He had a small moustache. He was vigorous enough in his smallness. "'Well, is it Hadrian?' exclaimed Cousin Matilda, wringing the lather off her hand. we didn't expect you till to-morrow i got off monday night said hadrian glancing round the room fancy said cousin matilda then having dried her hand she went forward held out her hand and said how are you quite well thank you said hadrian you're quite a man said cousin matilda hadrian hadrian glanced at her she did not look her best

so thin so large-nosed with that pink and white checked duster tied round her head she felt her disadvantage but she had had a good deal of suffering and sorrow she did not mind any more the servant entered one that did not know hadrian come and see my father said cousin matilda in the hall they roused cousin emmy like a partridge from cover she was on the stairs pushing the bright stair-rods into place instinctively her hand went to the little knobs her front hair bobbed on her forehead why she exclaimed crossly what have you come to-day for i got off a day earlier said hadrian and his man's voice so deep and unexpected was like a blow to cousin emmy well you've caught us in the midst of it she said with resentment then all three went into the middle room mr rockley was dressed that is he had on his trousers and sock but he was resting on the bed propped up just under the window from whence he could see his beloved and resplendent garden where tulips and apple trees were ablaze he did not look as ill as he was for the water puffed him up and his face kept its colour his stomach was his stomach was was much swollen. He glanced round swiftly, turning his eyes without turning his head. He was the wreck of a handsome, well-built man. Seeing Hadrian, a queer, unwilling smile went over his face. The young man greeted him sheepishly.

He wouldn't make a life guardsman, he said. Do you want something to eat? hadrian looked round as if for the meal i don't mind he said what shall you have egg and bacon asked emmy shortly yes i don't mind said hadrian the sisters went down to the kitchen and sent the servant to finish the stairs isn't he altered said matilda sote voce isn't he said cousin emmy what a little man they both made a little man they both made a little man they both made a little man grimace and laughed nervously. "'Here the frying-pan,' said Emmy to Matilda. "'But he's as cocky as ever,' said Matilda, narrowing her eyes and shaking her head knowingly as she handed the frying-pan.

"'Manny,' said Emmy sarcastically. Hadrian's new-fledged cocksure manliness evidently found no favour in her eyes. "'Oh, it's not bad,' said Matilda. you don't want to be prejudiced against him. I'm not prejudiced against him. I think it's all right for looks, said Emmy. But there's too much of the little money about him.

Fancy catching us like this, said Matilda. They've no thought for anything, said Emmy with contempt. You go up and get dressed, are Matilda. I don't care about him. I can see the things and you can talk to him. I shan't. He'll talk to my father. said matilda meaningful sly exclaimed emmy with a grimace the sisters believed that hadrian had come hoping to get something out of their father hoping for a legacy and they were not at all sure he would not get it

matilda went upstairs to change she had thought it all out how she would receive hadrian and impress him and he had caught her with her head tied up in a duster and her thin arms and a basin of lather but she did not care she now dressed herself most scrupulously carefully folded her long beautiful blond hair touched her pallor with a little rouge and put her long string of exquisite crystal beads over her soft green dress now she looked elegant like a heroine and a magazine illustration and almost as unreal she found hadrian and her father talking of her father talking of her own away. The young man was short of speech as a rule, but he could find his tongue with his uncle. They were both sipping a glass of brandy, and smoking and chatting like a pair of old cronies. Hadrian was telling about Canada. He was going back there when his leave was up. You wouldn't like to stop in England, then, said Mr. Rockley. No, I wouldn't stop in England, said Hadrian.

how's that there's plenty of electricians here said mr rockley yes but there's too much difference between the men and the employers over here too much of that for me said hadrian the sick man looked at him narrowly with oddly smiling eyes that's it is it he replied matilda heard and understood so that's your big idea is it my dear is it my little man, she said to herself. She had always said of Hadrian that he had no proper respect for anybody or anything, that he was sly and common. She went down to the kitchen for a Soto Vocci confab with Emmy. He thinks a rare lot of himself, she whispered. He's somebody he is, said Emmy with contempt. He thinks there's too much difference between masters and men over here, said Matilda. Is it any different in Canada?

asked Emmy. Oh yes, democratic, replied Matilda. He thinks they're all on a level over there. Ah, well, he's over here now, said Emmy, dryly, so he can keep his place. As they talked, they saw the young man sauntering down the garden, looking casually at the flowers. He had his hands in his pockets,

and his soldier's cap neatly on his head. He looked quite as his ease, as if in possession. The two women fluttered, watched him through the window. We know what he's come for, said Emmy churlishly. Matilda looked a long time at the neat khaki figure. It had something of the charity boy about it still, but now it was a man's figure, laconic, charred with probably an energy she thought of the derisive passion in his voice as he had declaimed against the property classes to her father you don't know emmy perhaps he's not come for that she rebuked her sister they were both thinking of the money

they were still watching the young soldier he stood away at the bottom of the garden with his back to them his hands in his pockets looking into the water of the willow pond matilda's dark blue eyes had a strange full look in them the lids with the faint blue veins showing dropped rather low she carried her head light and high but she had a look of pain the young man at the bottom of the garden turned and looked up the path perhaps he saw them through the window matilda moved into shadow that afternoon their father seemed weak and ill he was easily exhausted the doctor came and told matilda that the sick man might die suddenly at any moment but then he might not they must be prepared so the day passed and the next hadrim made himself at home he went about in the morning in his brownish jersey and his khaki trousers collarless his bare neck showing he explored the pottery premises as if he had some secret purpose in so doing he talked with mr rockley when the sick man had strength the two girls were always angry when the two men sat talking together like cronies yet it was chiefly a kind of politics they talked end of section nine section ten of england my england by d h lawrence this librevox recording is in the public domain recording by antony ogus on the second day after hadrian's arrival matilda saturday

with her father in the evening. She was drawing a picture which she wanted to copy. It was very still. Hadrian was gone out somewhere, no one knew where, and Emmy was busy. Mr. Rockley reclined on his bed, looking out in silence over his evening sunny garden. If anything happened to me, Matilda, he said. You won't sell this house. You'll stop here. Matilda's took their slightly haggard look as she stared at her father well we couldn't do anything else she said you don't know what you might do he said everything is left to you and emmie equally you'll do as you like with it only don't sell this house don't part with it no she said and give hadrian my watch and chain and a hundred pounds out of what's in the bank and help him if he ever wants helping. I haven't put his name in the will. Your watch and chain and a hundred pounds, yes,

but you'll be here when he goes back to Canada, father. You never know what'll happen, said her father. Matilda sat and watched him with her full haggard eyes for a long time, as if tranced. She saw that he knew he must go soon. She saw like a clairvoyance. Later on she told Emmy what her father had said about the watch and chain and the money What right is he, he, meaning Hadrian?

To my father's watch and chain, what is it to do with him? Let him have the money and get off, said Emmy. She loved her father. That night Matilda sat late in her room. Her heart was anxious and breaking. her mind seemed entranced. She was too much entranced even to weep, and all the time she thought of her father,

only her father. At last she felt she must go to him. It was near midnight. She went along the passage into his room. There was a faint light from the moon outside. She listened at his door. Then she softly opened and entered. The room was being,

faintly dark. She heard a movement on the bed. Are you asleep? She said softly, advancing to the side of the bed. Are you asleep? She repeated gently as she stood at the side of the bed. And she reached her hand in the darkness to touch his forehead. Delicately, her fingers met the nose and the eyebrows. She laid her fine, delicate hand on his forehead. She laid her fine, delicate hand on his forehead. brow. It seemed fresh and smooth, very fresh and smooth. A sort of surprise stirred her in her entranced state, but it could not waken her. Gently she leaned over the bed and stirred her fingers over the low-growing hair on his brow. Can't you sleep tonight, she said. There was a quick stirring in the bed.

yes i can a voice answered it was hadrian's voice she started away instantly she was wakened from her late-night trance she remembered that her father was downstairs that hadrian had his room she stood in the darkness as if stung it is you hadrian she said i thought it was my father she was so startled so shocked that she could not move the young man gave an uncomfortable laugh and turned in his bed at last she got out of the room when she was back in her own room in the light and her door was closed she stood holding up her hand that had touched him as if it were hurt she was almost too shocked she could not endure well said her calm and weary mind it was only a mistake why take any notice of it but she could not reason her feeling so easily she suffered feeling herself in a false position her right hand which she had laid so gently on his face on his fresh skin ached now as if it were really injured she could not forgive hadrian for the mistake it made her dislike him deeply. Hadrian too slept badly. He had been awakened by the opening of the door, and had not realised what the question meant. But the soft, strained tenderness of her hand on his face

startled something out of his soul. He was a charity boy, aloof and more or less at bay. The fragile exquisiteness of her caress startled him most, revealed unknown things to him. In the morning, she could feel the consciousness in his eyes when she came downstairs. She tried to bear herself as if nothing at all had happened, and she succeeded. She had the calm self-control, self-indifference, of one who has suffered and borne her suffering. She looked at him from her darkish, almost drugged blue eyes. She met the spark of consciousness in his eyes and quenched it. And with her long, fine hand, she put the sugar in his

coffee. But she could not control him as she thought she could. He had a keen memory, stinging his mind, a new set of sensations working in his consciousness. Something new was alert in him. At the back of his reticent, guarded mind, he kept his secret alive and vivid. She was at his mercy, for he was unscrupulous. His standard was not her standard. He looked at her curiously. She was not beautiful. Her nose was too large.

Her chin was too small. Her neck was too thin. But her skin was clear and fine. She had a high-bred sensitiveness. This queer, brave, high-bred quality she shared with her father. the charity boy could see it in her tapering fingers which were white and ringed the same glamour that he knew in the elderly man he now saw in the woman and he wanted to possess himself of it he wanted to make himself master of it as he went about through the old pottery yard his secretive mind schemed and worked to be master of that strange soft delicacy

such as he had felt in her hand upon his face this was what he set himself towards he was secretly plotting he watched matilda as she went about and she became aware of his attention as of some shadow following her but her pride made her ignore it when he sauntered near her his hands in his pockets she received him with that same commonplace kindiness which mastered him more than any content her superior breeding seemed to control him she made herself feel towards him exactly as she had always felt he was a young boy who lived in the house with them but was a stranger only she dared not remember his face under her hand when she remembered that she was bewildered her hand had offended her she wanted to cut it off and she wanted fiercely to cut off the man memory in him. She assumed she had done so. One day when he sat talking with his uncle, he looked straight into the eyes of the sick man and said, But I shouldn't like to live and die here in Rornsley. No, well, you need, said the sick man. Do you think Cousin Matilda likes it? I should think so. I don't call it much of a life, said the youth. How much older is she than me, uncle?

the sick man looked at the young soldier a good bit he said over thirty said hadrian well not so much she's thirty-two hadrian considered a while she doesn't look it he said again the sick father looked at him do you think she'd like to leave here said hadrian nay i don't know replied the father restive Hadrian sat still, having his own thoughts. Then in a small, quiet voice, as if he were speaking from inside himself, he said, I'd marry her if you wanted me to. The sick man raised his eyes suddenly and stared. He stared for a long time.

The youth looked inscrutably out of the window. You, said the sick man, mocking, with sun contempt. Hadrian turned and met his eyes. The two men had an inexplicable understanding. If you wasn't against it, said Hadrian. Nay, said the father, turning aside, I don't think I'm against it. I've never thought of it. But, but Em is the youngest. He had flushed, and looked suddenly more alive. Secretly he loved. He loved the boy. You might ask her, said Hadrian. The elder man considered, "'And you better ask her yourself?' he said. "'She'd take more notice of you,' said.

They were both silent. Then Emmy came in. For two days Mr. Rockley was excited and thoughtful. Hadrian went about quietly, secretly, unquestioning. at last the father and daughter were alone together it was very early morning the father had been in much pain as the pain abated he lay still thinking matilda he said suddenly looking at his daughter yes i'm here she said i want you to do something she rose in anticipation nay sit still still i want you to marry hadrian she thought he was raving she rose bewildered and frightened nay sit you still sit you still you hear what i tell you but you don't know what you're saying father hey i know well enough i want you to marry hadrian i tell you she was dumbfounded he was a man of few words he'll do what i tell you he said she looked at him slowly what put such an idea in your mind she said proudly he did matilda almost looked her father down her pride was so offended why it's disgraceful she said why she watched him slowly what you ask me for she said it's disgusting she said it's disgusting she said it's disgusting

the lad's sound enough he replied testily you'd better tell him to clear out she said coldly he turned and looked out of the window she sat flushed and erect for a long time at length her father turned to her looking really malevolent if you won't he said you're a fool and i'll make you pay for your foolishness do you see suddenly a cold fear gripped her she could not believe her senses she was terrified and bewildered she stared at her father believing him to be delirious or mad or drunk what could she do i tell you he said i'll send for whittle to-morrow if you don't shall neither of you have anything of mine whittle was the solicitor she understood her her father well enough he would send for his solicitor and make a will leaving all his property to hadrian now that she nor emmy should have anything it was too much she rose and went out of the room up to her own room where she locked herself in she did not come out for some hours at last late at night she confided in emmy the sliving demon he wants the money said Emmy. My father's out of his mind. The thought that Hadrian merely wanted the money

was another blow to Matilda. She did not love the impossible youth, but she had not yet learned to think of him as a thing of evil. He now became hideous to her mind. Emmy had a little scene with her father next day. You don't mean what you said to our Matilda yesterday's your father? She asked aggressively. yes he replied what did you alter your will yes you won't said his angry daughter but he looked at her with a malevolent little smile

annie he shouted annie he still had power to make his voice carry the servant-maid came in from the kitchen put your things on and go down to whittles office and say i want to see mr whittle as soon as he can and will he bring a will form the sick man lay back a little he could not lie down his daughter sat as if she had been struck then she left the room had hadrian was pottering about in the garden she went straight down to him here she said you better get off you better take your things and go from here quick at the infuriated girl. Who says so? He asked. We say so. Get off. You've done enough, mischief and damage.

Does Uncle say so? Yes, he does. I'll go and ask him. But like a fury, Emmy barred his way. No, you needn't ask him nothing at all. We don't want you, so you can go. Uncle's boss here. A man that's dying, and you crawling round and working on him for his money,

you're not fit to live. Oh, he said, who says I'm working for his money? I say, but my father told our Matilda, and she knows what you are, she knows what you're after, so you might as well clear out for all you'll get, gutter snipe.

He turned his back on her to think. It had not occurred to him that they would think he was after the money. He did want the money badly. He badly wanted to be an employer himself, not one of the employed. But he knew in his subtle, calculating way, that it was not for money he wanted Matilda. He wanted both the money and Matilda.

But he told himself the two desires were separate, not one. He could not do with Matilda without the money. But he did not want her for the money. When he got this clear in his mind, he sought for an opportunity to tell it her, lurking and watching. But she avoided him. In the evening the lawyer came. Mr. Rockley seemed to have a new access of strength. A will was drawn up, making the previous arrangements wholly conditional. The old will held good if Matilda would consent to marry Hadrian. If she refused, then at the end of six months,

the whole property passed to hadrian mr rockley told this to the young man with malevolent satisfaction he seemed to have a strange desire quite unreasonable for revenge upon the women who had surrounded him for so long and served him so carefully tell her in front of me said hadrian so mr rockley sent for his daughters at last they came pale mute stubborn matilda seemed to have retired far off emmy seemed like a fighter ready to fight to the death the sick man reclined on the bed his eyes bright his puffed hand trembling but his face had again some of its old bright handsomeness hadrian sat quiet a little aside the indomitable dangerous charity boy yes the will said their father pointing them to the paper the two women sat mute and immovable they took no notice either you marry hadrian or he has everything said the father father with satisfaction. Then let him have everything, said Matilda boldly.

He's not, he's not, cried Emmy fiercely. He's not going to have it, the gutter snipe. An amused look came on her father's face. You hear that, Hadrian, he said. I didn't offer to marry cousin Matilda for the money, said Hadrian, flushing and moving on his seat. Matilda looked at him slowly, with her dark blue drugged eyes. He seemed a strange little monster to her.

Why, you liar, you know you did, cried Emmy. The sick man laughed. Matilda continued to gaze strangely at the young man. She knows I didn't, said Hadrian. He too had his courage, as a rat has indomitable courage in the end. Hadrian had some of the neatness, the reserve, the underground quality of the rat. But he had perhaps the ultimate courage, the most unquenchable courage of all. Emmy looked at her sister.

Oh well, she said, Matilda, don't bother. Let him have everything. We can look after ourselves. I know he'll take everything, said Matilda, abstractedly. Hadrian did not answer. He knew, in fact, that if Matilda refused him, he would take everything and go off with it. A clever little manny, said Emmy, with a jeering grimace.

The father laughed noiselessly to himself, but he was tired. Go on, then, he said. Go on, let me be quiet. Emmy turned and looked at him. You deserve what you've got, she said to her father bluntly. Go on, he answered mildly. Go on.

Another night passed. A night nurse sat up with Mr. Rockley. Another day came. Hadrim was there as ever, in his woolen jersey and coarse kharky trousers and bare neck. Matilda went about frail and distant. Emmy black-browed in spite of her blondness. They were all quiet, for they did not intend the mystified servant to learn anything.

Mr. Rockley had very bad attacks of pain. He could not breathe. The end seemed near. They all went about quiet and stoical, all unyielding. Hadrian pondered within himself. If he did not marry Matilda, he would go to Canada with £20,000.

This was itself a very satisfactory prospect. If Matilda consented, he would have nothing. She would have her own money. Emmy was the one to act. She went off in search of the solicitor and brought him with her. There was an interview. and Whittle tried to frighten the youth into withdrawal, but without avail.

The clergyman and relatives were summoned, but Hadrian stared at them and took no notice. It made him angry, however. He wanted to catch Matilda alone. Many days went by, and he was not successful. She avoided him. At last lurking, he surprised her. one day as she came to pick

Gusbury's and he cut off her retreat. He came to the point at once. You don't want me then, he said in his subtle, insinuating voice. I don't want to speak to you, she said, averting her face. You put your hand on me, though, he said. You shouldn't have done that,

and then I should never have thought of it. You shouldn't have touched me. If you were anything decent, you'd know that was a mistake and forget it, she said. I know it was a mistake, but I shan't forget it. If you wake a man up, he can't go to sleep again because he's told to. If you had any decent feeling in you, you'd have gone away, she replied. I didn't want to, he replied. She looked away into the distance.

at last she asked what do you persecute me for if it isn't for the money i am old enough to be your mother in a way i've been your mother doesn't matter he said you've been no mother to me let us marry and go out to canada you might as well you've touched me she was white and trembling suddenly she flushed with anger "'It's so indecent,' she said. "'How!' he retorted. "'You touch me.' But she walked away from him. She felt as if he had trapped her. He was angry and depressed.

He felt again despised. That same evening she went into her father's room. "'Yes,' she said suddenly, "'I'll marry him.' Her father looked up at her. he was in pain and very ill you like him now do you he said with a faint smile she looked down into his face and saw death not far off she turned and went coldly out of the room the solicitor was sent for preparations were hastily made in all the interval matilda did not speak to hadrian never answered him if he addressed her he approached her in the morning you've come round to it then he said giving her a present look from his twinkling almost kindly eyes

she looked down at him and turned aside she looked down on him both literally and figuratively still he persisted and triumphed emmy raved and wept the secret flew abroad but matilda was silent and unmoved hadrian was quiet and satisfied and nipped with fear also but he held out against his fear. Mr. Rockley was very ill, but unchanged. On the third day the marriage took place. Matilda and Hadrian drove straight home from the registrar and went straight into the room of the dying man. His face lit up with a clear, twinkling smile.

"'Hadrian, you've got her!' he said, a little hoarsely. yes said hadrian who was pale round the gills ay my lad i'm glad you're mine replied the dying man then he turned his eyes closely on matilda let's look at you matilda he said then his voice went strange and unrecognisable kiss me he said she stooped and kissed him she had never kissed him before not since she was a tiny child but she was quiet very still kiss him the dying man said obediently matilda put forward her mouth and kissed the young husband that's right that's right murmured the dying man said end of section ten section eleven of england by d h lawrence this lebr of o'oc's recording is in the public domain recording by antony ogus samson and delilah a man got down from the motor omnibus that runs from penzance to st just in penwith and turn northwards uphill towards the pole star it was only half half-past six but already the stars were out a cold little wind was blowing from the sea and the crystalline three-pulse flash of the lighthouse below the cliffs beat rhythmically in the first darkness

the man was alone he went his way unhesitating but looked from side to side with cautious curiosity tall ruined power-houses of tin mines loomed in the dark from time to time like remnants of some bygone civilisation the lights of many miners cottages scattered on the hilly darkness twinkled desolate in their disorder yet twinkled with the lonely homeliness of the celtic night he tramped steadily on always watchful with curiosity he was a tall well-built man apparently in the prime of life his shoulders was square and rather stiff he leaned forwards a little as he went from the hips like a man who must stoop to lower his height but he did not stoop his shoulders he bent his straight back from the hips now on again short stumped thick-legged figures of cornish miners passed him and he invariably gave them good-night as if to insist that he was on his own ground He spoke with the West Cornish intonation, and as he went along the dreary road, looking now at the lights of the dwellings on land, now at the lights away to sea, vessels veering round in sight of the longship's lighthouse,

the whole of the Atlantic Ocean in darkness and space between him and America, he seemed a little excited and pleased with himself, watchful, thrilled, veering along in a sense of mastery and of power in conflict, the houses began to close on the road he was entering the straggling formless desolate mining village that he knew of old on the left was little space set back from the road and cosy lights of an inn there it was he peered up at the sign the tinners rest but he could not make out the name of the proprietor he listened there was there was was excited talking and laughing a woman's voice laughing shrilly among the men's stooping a little he entered the warmly lit bar the lamp was burning a buxom woman rose from the white scrub deal table where the black and white and red cards were scattered and several men miners lifted their faces from the game the stranger went to the counter averting his face his face his cap was pulled down over his brow good evening said the landlady in her rather ingratiating voice good evening a glass of ale a glass of ale repeated the landlady suavely colonite but bright yes the man assented laconically

then he added when nobody expected him to say any more seasonable weather quite seasonable quite said the landlady thank you very well thank you very thank you very thank you for the landlady thank you very thank you for the landlady thank you you the man lifted his glass straight to his lips and emptied it he put it down again on the zinc counter with a click let's have another he said the woman drew the beer and the man went away with his glass to the second table near the fire the woman after a moment's hesitation took her seat again at the table with the card players she had noticed the man a big fine fellow well dressed a stranger but he spoke with that cornish yankee accent she accepted as the natural twang among the miners the stranger put his foot on the fender and looked into the fire he was handsome well coloured with well-drawn cornish eyebrows and the usual dark bright mindless cornish eyes he seemed abstracted in thought then he watched the card party the woman was buxom and healthy with dark hair and small quick-brown eyes she was bursting with life and vigour the energy thee threw into the game of cards excited all the men they shouted and laughed, and the woman held her breast, shrieking with laughter. "'Ah, me, it'll be the death of me,' she panted.

"'Now come on, Mr. Trevorrow. Play fair. Play fair, I say. I'll put the cards down.' "'Play fair? Why, who's playing unfair?' ejaculated Mr. Trevoro. "'Germaine accused me, as I haven't played fair, Mrs. Nankovies.' "'I do. I say it, and I mean it. Haven't you got the Queen of Spades?' now come on no dodging round me i know you've got the queen as well as i know my name's alice well if your name's alice you'll have to have it ay now what did i say did you ever see such a man my word but your missus must be easy took in by the looks of things and off she went into peals of laughter she was interrupted by the entrance of four men in car key a short stumpy sergeant of middle age a young corporal and two young privates the woman leaned back in her chair ah my she cried if there isn't the boys back looking perished i believe perish more exclaimed the sergeant not yet near enough said a young private uncouthly the woman got up i'm sure you are my dears you'll be wanting your suppers i'll be bound we could do with em let's have a wet first said the sergeant

the woman bustled about getting the drinks the soldiers moved to the fire spreading out their hands have your suppers in here will you she said or in the kitchen let's have it here said the sergeant more cosier if you don't mind you shall have it where you like boys where you like she disappeared in a minute a girl of about sixteen came in she was tall and fresh with dark young expressionless eyes and well-drawn brows and the immature softness and mindlessness of the sensuous celtic type ha marian evening marian how's marian now came the multiple greeting she replied to everybody in a soft voice a strange soft aplomb that was very attractive and she moved round with her very attractive and she moved round with her own and she moved round with her own with rather mechanical attractive movements as if her thoughts were elsewhere. But she had always this dim, far-awayness in her bearing, a sort of modesty.

The strange man by the fire watched her curiously. There was an alert, inquisitive, mindless curiosity on his well-coloured face. I'll have a bit of suffer with you, if I might, he said. she looked at him with her clear unreasoning eyes just like the eyes of some non-human creature alas mother she said her voice was soft breathing gently sing-song when she came in again yes she said almost whispering what will you have what have you got he said looking up into her face there's cold meat that's for me then the stranger sat at the end of the table and et with the tired quiet soldiers now the landlady was interested in him her brow was knit rather tense there was look of panic in her large healthy face but her small brown eyes were fixed most dangerously she was a big woman but her eyes were small and tense she drew near the stranger

she wore a rather loud patterned flannelette blouse and a dark skirt what'll you had to drink with your supper she asked and there was a new dangerous note in her voice he moved uneasily i'll go on with ale she drew him another glass then she sat down on the bench at the table with him and the soldiers and fixed him with her attention you've come from st just have you she said he looked at her with those clear dark inscrutable cornish eyes and answered at length no from penzance pinzance but you're not thinking of going back there to-night no no he still looked at her with those wide clear eyes that seemed like very bright agate her anger began to rise her anger began to rise it was seen on her brow yet her voice was still suave and deprecating i thought not but you're not living in these parts are you no no i'm not living here he was always slow in answering as if something intervened between him and any outside question oh i see she said you've got relations down here again he looked straight into her eyes as if looking her into silence yes he said he did not say any more she rose with a flounce the anger was tight on her brow there was no more laughing and card-playing that evening though she kept up her motherly suave good-humoured way with the men but they knew her they were all afraid of her

the supper was finished the table cleared the stranger did not go two of the young soldiers went off to bed with their cheery good night marian good-night marian the stranger talked a little to the sergeant about the war which was in its first year about the new army a fragment of which was courted in this district about america the landlady darted looks at him from her small eyes minute by minute the electric storm welled in her bosom as still he did not go she was quivering with suppressed violent passion something frightening and abnormal she could not sit still for a moment her heavy form seemed to flash with sudden involuntary movements as the minutes passed by and still he sat there and the tension on her heart grew unbearable she watched the hands of the clock move on three of the soldiers had gone to bed only the crop-headed terrier-like old sergeant remained the landlady sat behind the bar fidgeting spasmodically with the newspaper she looked again at the clock at last it was five minutes to ten gentlemen the enemy she said in her diminished furious voice time lees time adheres and good-night all the men began to drop out with a brief good-night it was a minute to ten the landlady rose come she said i'm shut in the door

the last of the miners passed out she stood stout and menacing holding the door still the stranger sat on by the fire his black overcoat opened smoking we're close now sir came the perilous narrowed voice of the landlady the little dog-like hard-headed sergeant touched the arm the stranger closing time he said the stranger turned round in his seat and his quick-moving dark jewel-like eyes went from the sergeant to the landlady i'm stopping here to-night he said in his laconic cornish yankee accent the landlady seemed to tower her eyes lifted strangely frightening hark indeed she cried ah indeed and whose orders of those may ask he looked at her again my orders he said involuntarily she shut the door and advanced like a great dangerous bird her voice rose there was a tough of hoarseness in it and what might your orders be if you please she cried who might you be to give orders in the house he sat still watching her you know who i am he said at least i know who you are ah you do oh do you and who am i then if you'll be so good as to tell me he stared at her with his bright dark eyes you're my missus you are he said and you know it as well as i do she started as if something had exploded in her

her eyes lifted and flared madly do i know it indeed she cried i know nor such thing i know no such thing do you think a man's going to walk into this bar and tell me off-hand i'm his missus and i'm going to believe him i say to you whoever you may be you're mistaken i know myself and oh missus of yours and i'll thank you to go out of this house this minute before i get those that will put you out the man rose to his feet stretching his head towards her a little he was a handsomely built cornishman in the prime of life what you say eh you don't know me he said in his sing-song voice emotionless but rather smothered and pressing it reminded one of the girls i should know you anywhere you see i should i shouldn't have to look twice to know you you see you see you see you know you know you see you know you know you see now don't you the woman was baffled so you may say she replied staccato so you may say that's easy enough my name's known and respected by most people for ten miles round but i don't know you her voice ran to sarcasm i can't say i know you you're a perfect stranger to me and i don't believe i've ever set eyes on you before to-night her voice was very flexible and sarcastic. Yes, you have, replied the man in his reasonable way.

Yes, you have. Your name's my name. And that girl, Marianne, is my girl. She's my daughter. You're my, Mrs. Wright enough. As sure as I'm well in Anchervis. He spoke as if it were an accepted fact. His face was handsome, with a strange watchful alertness and a fundamental fixative intention that maddened her you villain she cried you villain to come to this house and dare to speak to me you villain you damn right rascal he looked at her ay he said unmoved all that he was unneasy before her only he was not afraid of her there was something impenrable about him like his eyes which were as bright as agate. She towered and drew near to him menacingly. You're going out of this house, aren't you? She stamped her foot in sudden madness. This minute! He watched her. He knew she wanted to strike him. No, he said with suppressed emphasis. I've told you I'm stopping here.

He was afraid of her personality, but it's did not alter him she wavered her small tawny brown eyes concentrated in a point of vivid sightless fury like a tiger's the man was wincing but he stood his ground then she bethought herself she would gather her forces end of section eleven section twelve of england my england by d h lawrence this lebrowoc's recording is in the public domain recording by antony ogus we'll see whether you're stopping here she said and she turned with a curious frightening lifting of her eyes and surged out of the room the man listening heard her go upstairs heard her go upstairs heard her tapping at a bedroom door, heard her saying, Do you mind coming down a minute, boys? I want you. I'm in trouble. The man in the bar took off his cap and his black overcoat and threw them on the seat behind him.

His black hair was short and touched with grey at the temples. He wore a well-cut, well-fitting suit of dark grey, american in style and a turned-down collar he looked well to do a fine solid figure of a man the rather rigid look of the shoulders came from his having had his collar-bone twice broken in the mines the little terrier of a sergeant in dirty car key looked at him furtively should you are mess us he asked jerking his head in the direction of the departed woman yes she is about the man she's that sure enough not seen her for a long time haven't you sixteen years come march month ah and the sergeant laconically resumed his smoking the landlady was coming back followed by the three young soldiers who entered rather sheepishly in trousers and shirt and stocking feet the woman stood histrionically at the end of the bar and exclaimed that man refuses to leave the house claims is stopping the night here you know very well i have no bed don't you and this house doesn't accommodate travellers it is going to stop in spite of all but not while i've a drop of blood in my body that i declare with my dying breath and not if you men are worth the name of men and will help a woman as there's no one to help her her eyes sparkled her face was flushed pink she was drawn up like an amazon the young soldiers did not quite know what to do they looked at the man they looked at the sergeant one of them looked down and fastened his braces on the second button

what say sergeant asked one whose face twinkled for little devilman well say's his husband to mrs angivis said the sergeant asked one whose face twinkled for little devilman "'Well, say he's husband to Mrs. Angavis,' said the sergeant. "'He's no husband of mine. I declare I never set eyes on him before this night. "'It's a dirty trick. Nothing else? It's a dirty trick.' "'Why, you're a liar, saying you never said eyes on me before,' barked the man near the hearth. "'You're married to me. And that girl, Marianne, you had by me. Well enough, you know it.' the young soldiers looked on in delight the sergeant smoked him perturbed yes sang the sir lang lady slowly shaking her head in supreme sarcasm it sounds very pretty doesn't it but you see we don't believe a word of it and how are you going to prove it she smiled nastily the man watched in silence for a moment then he said he'd want no proof

ah yes but it does oh yes but it does sir it wants a lot of proving sang the lady's sarcasm we're not such gulls as all that to swallow your words whole but he stood unmoved near the fire she stood with one hand resting on the zinc-covered bar the sergeant sat with legs crossed smoking on the seat half-way between them the three young soldiers in their shirts and braces stood wavering in the glue behind the bar there was silence you know anything of the whereabouts are your husband mrs anankovess is he still living asked the sergeant in his judicious fashion suddenly the landlady began to cry great scalding tears that left the young men aghast i know nothing of him she sobbed feeling for her pocket-handkerchief he laughed me when marianne was a baby when mining in america and after about six months never wrote a line nor send me a penny bit i can't say whether he's alive or dead the villain all i've heard of him is to the bad and i've heard nothing for years and all now she sobbed violently the golden skin handsome man near the fire watched her as she wept he was frightened he was troubled he was bewildered but none of his emotions always was altered him underneath. There was no sound in the room, but the violent sobbing of the landlady. The men, one and all, were overcome. Don't you think as you better go for tonight, said the sergeant to the man, with sweet reasonableness, you better leave it a bit, and arrange something between you.

You can't have much claim on a woman, I should imagine, if it's how she says, and you've come down on her a bit too sudden-like. The landlady sobbed heart-brokenly. The man watched her large breasts shaken. They seemed to cast a spell over his mind. How I've treated her, that's no matter, he replied. I've come back, and I'm going to stop in my own home for a bit anyhow. There, you've got it.

A dirty action, said the sergeant, his face flushing dark, a dirty action to come after deserting a woman for that number of years and want to force yourself on her a dirty action as isn't allowed by the law the land ladle wiped her eyes never you mind about law nor nothing cried the man in a strange strong voice i'm not moving out of this public to-night the woman turned to the soldiers behind her and said in a weed sarcastic tone. How are we going to stand there, boys? How are we going to be done like this, Sergeant Thomas by a scoundrel and a bully that's ahead of life beyond mention in those American mining camps, and then wants to come back and make havoc of a poor woman's life and savings

after having left her with a baby in arms to struggle as best she might? It's a crying shame if nobody will stand up for me. A crying shame! The soldiers and the little sergeant were bristling. The woman stooped and rummaged under the counter for a minute. Then, unseen to the man away near the fire, she threw out a plaited grass rope, such as is used for binding bales,

and left it lying near the feet of the young soldiers in the gloom at the back of the bar. Then she rose and fronted the situation. Come now, she said to the, man in a reasonable coldly coaxing tone put your coat on and leave us alone be a man and not worse than a brute of a german you can get a bed easy enough in st just and if you have nothing to pay for it sergeant will lend you a couple of shillings i'm sure he would all eyes were fixed on the man he was looking down at the woman like a creature spellbound or possessed by some devil's own intention i got money of my own he said don't you be frightened for your money i'll be plenty of that for the time well then she coaxed in a cold almost sneering propitiation put your coat on an go away you wanted be a man not a brute of a german she had drawn quite near to him in her challenging coaxing intentness he looked down at her with his bewitched face no i shan't he said i shan't do no such thing you'll put me up for to-night shall i she cried

and suddenly she flung her arms round him hung on to him with all her powerful weight calling to the soldiers get the ropes boys and fathom him up alfred john quick now the man reared looked round with mad and eyes and heaved his powerful body but the woman was powerful also and very heavy and was clenched with the determination of death her face with its exulting horrible vindictive look was turned up to him from his own breast he reached back his head frantically to get away from it meanwhile the young soldiers after having watched this frightful lay on swaying for a moment stirred and the malicious one darted swiftly with the rope it was tangled a little give me the end here cried the sergeant meanwhile the big man heaved and struggled swung the woman round against the seat and the table in his convulsive effort to get free but she pinned down his arms like a cuttle-fish wreathed heavily upon him and he heaved and swayed and he heaved and swayed and and they crashed about the room, the soldiers hopping, the furniture bumping.

The young soldier had got the rope once round, the brisk sergeant helping him. The woman sank heavily lower. They got the rope round several times. In the struggle, the victim fell over against the table. The ropes tightened till they cut his arms. The woman clung to his knees. Another soldier ran in a flash of genius,

and fastened the strange man's feet with the pair of braces. Seats had crashed over. The table was thrown against the wall, but the man was bound, his arms pinned against his side, his feet tied. He lay half-fallen, sunk against the table, still for a moment. The woman rose and sank, faint,

onto the seat against the wall. Her breast heaved, she could not speak she thought she was going to die the bound man lay against the overturned table his coat all twisted and pulled up beneath the ropes leaving the loins exposed the soldiers stood around a little dazed but excited with the row the man began to struggle again heaving instinctively against the ropes taking great deep breaths his face with its golden skin, flushed dark and surcharged, he heaved again. The great veins in his neck stood out, but it was no good. He went relaxed. Then again suddenly he jerked his feet. Another pair of braces, William, cried the excited soldier. He threw himself on the legs of the bound man and managed to fasten the knees. Then again there was stillness. They could hear the

clock tick. The woman looked at the prostrate figure, the strong straight limbs, the strong back bound in subjection, the wide-eyed face that reminded her of a calf tied in a sack in a cart, only its head stretched dumbly backwards, and she triumphed. The bound-up body began to struggle again. She watched fascinated, the muscles working, the shoulders, the hips, the large, and the large, clean thighs even now he might break the ropes she was afraid but the lively young soldier sat on the shoulders of the bound man and after a few perilous moments there was stillness again now said the judicious sergeant to the bound man if we untie you will you promise to go off and make no more trouble you are not untie him in here cried the woman i wouldn't trust him as far as i could blow him there was silence we might carry him outside and undo him there said the soldier then we could get the policeman if he made any bother yes said the sergeant we could do that then again in an altered almost severe tone to the prisoner if we undo you outside will you take a coat and go without creating any more disturbance but the prisoner would not answer

he only lay with wide dark bright eyes like a bound animal there was a space of perplexed silence well then do as you say said the woman irritably carry him out amongst you and let us shut up this house they did so picking up the bound man the four soldiers staggered clumsily into the silent square in front of the inn the woman following with the cap and the overcoat the young soldiers quickly unfastened the braces from the prisoner's legs and they hopped indoors they were in their stocking feet and outside the stars flashed cold they stood in the doorway watching the man lay quite still on the cold ground now said the sergeant in the subdued voice i'll loosen the knot and you can work himself free if you go in mrs she gave a last look at the disheveled bound man as he sat on the ground then she went indoors followed quickly by the sergeant then they were heard locking and barring the door the man seated on the ground outside worked and strained at the rope but it was not easy to undo himself even now so with hands bound making an effort he got on his feet and went and worked the cord against the rough edge of an old wall the rope being of a kind of plaited grass soon frayed and broke and he freed himself he had various contusions his arms were hurt and bruised from the bonds.

He rubbed them slowly. Then he pulled his clothes straight, stooped, put on his cap, struggled into his overcoat, and walked away. The stars were very brilliant, clear as crystal, the beam from the lighthouse under the cliffs,

struck rhythmically on the night. Dazed, the man walked along the road, past the churchyard. Then he stood leaning up, against a wall for a long time. He was roused because his feet were so cold, so he pulled himself together and turned again in the silent night

back towards the inn. The bar was in darkness, but there was light in the kitchen. He hesitated, then very quietly he tried the door. He was surprised to find it open. He entered and quietly closed it behind, him. Then he went down the step past the bar counter and threw to the lighted doorway of the

kitchen. There sat his wife, planted in front of the range, where a furs fire was burning. She sat in a chair full in front of the range, her knees wide apart on the fender. She looked over her shoulder at him as he entered, but she did not speak. Then she stared in the fire again. it was a small narrow kitchen he dropped his cap on the table that was covered with yellowish american cloth and took a seat with his back to the wall near the oven his wife still sat with her knees apart her feet on the steel fender and stared into the fire motionless her skin was smooth and rosy in the firelight everything in the house was very clean and bright the man sat silent too his head dropped and thus they remained it was a question who would speak first the woman leaned forward and poked the ends of the sticks in between the bars of the range he lifted his head and looked at her others gone to bed have they he asked but she remained closed in silence there's a cold night out he said as if to himself and he laid his large yet well-shaven workman's hand on the top of the stove that was polished black and smooth as velvet she would not look at him yet she glanced out of the corners of her eyes

his eyes were fixed brightly on her the pupils large and electric like those of a cat i should have puked you out among thousands he said now you're bigger than i'd have believed fine flesh you've made she was silent for some time then she turned in her chair upon him what do you think of yourself she said coming back on me like this after over fifteen years you don't think i've not heard of you neither in butter city and elsewhere he was watching her with his clear translucent unchallenged eyes yes he said chaps comes and goes i've heard tell of you from time to time she drew herself up and what lies have you heard about me she demanded superbly i dunno as i've heard any lies at all cept as you was getting on very well like his voice ran warily and detached her voice ran warily and detached her anger stirred again in her violently, but she subdued it because of the danger there was in him, and more perhaps, because of the beauty of his head and his level-drawn brows, which she could not bear to forfeit. "'That's more than I can say of you,' she said. "'I've heard more harm than good about you.' "'oy, I dare say,' he said, looking in the fire. It was a long time since he had seen

the firs burning, he said to himself. There was a silence during which she watched his face. Do you call yourself a man? She said more in contemptuous reproach than in anger. Leave a woman as you've left me, you don't care to what? And then to turn up in this fashion, without a word to say for yourself? He stirred in his chair, planted his feet apart, and resting his arms on his knees, looked steadily into the fire without answering. So near to her was his head and the close black hair. She could scarcely refrain from starting away, as if it would bite her.

To call that the action of a man? She repeated. No, he said, reaching and poking the bits of wood into the fire with his fingers. I didn't call it anything as I know of. It's no good calling things by any names whatsoever, as I know of. she watched him in his actions. There was a longer and longer pause between each speech, though neither knew it. I wonder what you think of yourself!

She exclaimed with vexed emphasis. I wonder what sort of a fellow you take yourself to be. She was really perplexed, as well as angry. Well, he said, lifting his head to look at her, I guess I'll answer for my own faults. If everybody else lands over theirs? Her heart beat fiery hot As he lifted his face to her.

She breathed heavily, averting her face, Almost losing her self-control. "'And what do you take me to be?' she cried in real helplessness. His face was lifted watching her, watching her soft averted face and the softly heaving mass of her breasts. i take you he said without the laconic truthfulness which exercised such power over her to be the joe so fine woman darn me if you are not as fine a built woman as i've seen handsome with it as well i shouldn't have expected you to ponds on such handsome flesh stroth i shouldn't her heart beat fiery hot as he watched her with those bright egg-eight eyes fixedly being very handsome to you for

fifteen years my sakes she replied he made no answer to this but sat with his bright quick eyes upon her then he rose she started involuntarily but he only said in his laconic measured way it's warm in here now and he pulled off his overcoat throwing it on the table she sat as if slightly cowled whilst he did so emeralpts has given my arm something by god he drooled feeling his arms with his hands still she sat in her chair before him slightly cowed you was sharp wasn't you catch me like that eh he smiled slowly my god you had me fixed proper proper you had darn me you fixed me up proper proper you did he leaned forwards in his chair towards her i don't think you know worse of you for it no darned if i do fine plucking a woman's what i admire that i do indeed she only gazed into the fire me effect from the start we did and my word you begin again quick the minute you see me you did darn me you're too sharp for me a darn fine woman puts up a darn good fight darn me if i could find a woman and all the darn states as could get me down like that wonderful fine woman you be truth to say at this minute she only sat glowering into the fire as grand a pluck as a man could wish to find in a woman true as i'm here he said reaching forward his hand and tentatively touching her between her full warm breasts quietly she started and seemed to shudder but his hand insinuated itself between her breasts as she continued to gaze in the fire and don't do think i've come back here a-begging he said have more than one thousand pounds to my name i have and a bit of a fight for a hardy ado pleases me that it do but that doesn't mean as you're going to deny as you're my missis

end of section twelve section thirteen of england my england by d h lawrence this lebrow box recording is in the public domain recording by antony o the primrose path a young man came out of the victoria station looking undecidedly at the taxicabs dark red and black pressing against the curb under the glass roof several men in great coats and brass buttons jerked themselves erect to catch his attention at the same time keeping an eye on the other people as they filtered through the open doorways of the station Berry, however, was occupied by one of the men, a big burly fellow whose blue eyes glared back and whose red-brown moustache bristled in defiance. Do you want a cab, sir? the man asked in a half-mocking, challenging voice. Barry hesitated still. Are you Daniel Sutton, he asked. Yes, replied the other defiantly, with uneasy contests.

then you're my uncle said berry they were alike in colouring and somewhat in features but the taxi driver was a powerful well-fleshed man who glared at the world aggressively being really on the defensive against his own heart his nephew of the same height was thin well-dressed quiet and indifferent in his manner and yet they were obviously kin and who the devil are you asked the taxi driver i'm daniel berry replied the nephew why i'm damned never saw you since you were a kid rather awkwardly at this late hour the two shook hands how are you lad all right i thought you're in australia been back three months bought a couple of these damned things he kicked the tire of his taxi-cab in affectionate disgust there was a moment's silence oh but i'm going back out there i can't stand this cankering rotten-hearted hell of a country any more you want to come out to sydney with me lad that's the place for you beautiful place oh you could wish for nothing better the money in it too how's your mother she died at christmas said the young man dead what are annai the big man's eyes stared and he recoiled in fear god lad he said there are three of em gone the two men looked away at the people passing along the pale grave pavements under the wall of trinity church oh strike me lucky said the taxi driver at last out of breath she were the best of the bunch of em i see nout noy an out from any of em they're not worth it i'll be damned if they are

ah sermon lapping adler and maud he looked scornfully at his nephew but she was the best of em or anna was that's a fact he was talking because he was afraid and after a hard life like she'd had. How old was she lad? Fifty-five? Fifty-five, he hesitated. Then in rather hushed voice he asked the question that frightened him. And what was it then? Cancer. Cancer again, like Julia. I never knew there was cancer in our family. Oh my good God. Our poor Anna, after the life she'd had. What lad you see any God at the back of that? I'm damned if I do. He was glaring, very blue-eyed and fierce at his nephew.

Berry lifted his shoulders slightly. God? When on the taxi driver in a curious, intense tone. You've only got to look at the folk in the street to know there's nothing keeps it going but gravitation. Look at her. them look at him a mongrel-looking man was nosing past wouldn't he murder you for your watch-chain but that he's afraid of society he's got it in him look at em berry watched the townspeople go by and sensitively feeling his uncle's antipathy it seemed he was watching a sort of dance macabre of ugly criminals did you ever see such a god-forsaken

creeping about it gives you the very horrors to look at em i sit in this damned car and watch em till i can tell you i feel like running the cab a muck among em and running myself to kingdom come berry wondered at this outburst he knew his uncle was the black sheep the youngest the darling of his mother's family he knew him to be at outs with respectability mixing with a looser sporting type all best and drinking and showing dogs and birds and racing as a critic of life however he did not know him but the young man felt curiously understanding he uses words like i do he talks nearly as i talk except that i shouldn't say those things but i might feel like that in myself if i went a certain road i've got to go to wotmore he said can you take me when you want to go asked the uncle fiercely now come on then what you stand gassing on the causeway for the nephew took his seat beside the driver the cab began to quiver then it started forward with a whir the uncle his hands and feet acting mechanically kept his blue eyes fixed on the high road into whose traffic the car was insinuating its way Barry felt curiously if he was sitting beside an older development of himself. His mind went back to his mother.

She had been twenty years older than this brother of hers whom she had loved so dearly. He was one of the most affectionate little lads and such a curly head. I could never have believed he would grow into great coarse bully years, for he's nothing else. My father made a god of him. Well, it's a good thing his father is dead. got in with that sporting gang, that's what did it. Things were made too easy for him, and so he thought of no one but himself, and this is the result. Not that Jokie Sutton was so very black as sheep. He had lived idly till he was eighteen, then had suddenly married a young

beautiful girl with clear brows and dark grey eyes, a factory girl. Having taken her to live with his parents, he, lover of dogs and pigeons, went on to the staff of a sporting paper, but his wife was without uplift or warmth. Though they made money enough, their house was dark and cold and uninviting. He had two or three dogs, and the whole attic was turned into a great pigeon house. He and his wife lived together roughly with no warmth, no refinement, no touch of beauty anywhere, except that she was beautiful he was a blustering impetuous man she was rather cold in her soul did not care about anything very much was rather capable and close with money and she had a common accent in her speech he outdid her a thousand times in coarse language and yet that cold twang in her voice tortured him with shame that he stamped down in bullying and in becoming more violent in his own speech Only his dogs adored him, and to them and to his pigeons

He talked with rough, yet curiously tender caresses While they leaped and fluttered for joy After he and his wife had been married for seven years, A little girl was born to them, then later another. But the husband and wife drew no nearer together. She had an affection for her children, almost like a cool governess. he had an emotional man's fear of sentiment which helped to nip his wife from putting out any shoots he treated his children roughly and pretended to think it a good job when one was adopted by a well-to-do maternal aunt but in his soul he hated his wife that she could give away one of his children for after her cool fashion she loved him

with the chaos of a man such as he she had no chance of being anything but cold and hard poor thing for she did love him in the end he fell absurdly and violently in love with a rather sentimental young woman who read browning he made his wife an allowance and established a new menage with the young lady shortly after emigrating with her to australia meanwhile his wife had gone to live with a publican a widower with whom she had one of those curious tacit understandings of which quiet women are capable something like an arrangement for provision in the future this was as much as the nephew knew he sat beside his uncle wondering how things stood at the present they raced lightly out past the cemetery and along the boulevard then turned into the rather grimy country the mud flew out on either side there was a fine mist of rain which blew in their faces berry covered himself up in the lanes the high hedges shone black with rain the silvery grey sky faintly dappled spread wide over the low green land. The elder man glanced fiercely up the road, then turned his red face to his nephew.

And how are you going on, lad? He said loudly. Berry noticed that his uncle was slightly uneasy of him. It made him also uncomfortable. The elder man had evidently something pressing on his soul. Who are you living within town? asked the nephew. have you gone back to aunt maud no barked the uncle she wouldn't have me i offered to i want to but she wouldn't you're alone then no i'm not alone he turned and glared with his fierce blue eyes at his nephew but said no more for some time the car ran on through the mud under the wet wall of the park that other devil tried to poison me suddenly shouted the old

a man, the one I went to Australia with, at which, in spite of himself, the younger smiled in secret. How was that? he asked. Wanted to get rid of me. She got in with another fellow on the ship. By Jove, I was bad. Where, on the ship? No, bellowed the other. No, that was in Wellington, New Zealand. I was bad and got lower and lower. Couldn't think what was up. I could hardly crawl about. as certain as i'm here she was poisoning me to get to the other chap i'm certain of it and what did you do i cleared out went to sydney and left her yes i thought begod i'd better clear out if i wanted to live and you're all right in sydney better in no time i know she was putting poison in my coffee there was a glum silence the driver stared at the driver stared at the driver stared at the driver stared at the driver stared at the the road ahead fixedly managing the car as if it were a live thing the nephew felt his uncle was afraid quite stupefied with fear fear of life of death of himself you're in rooms then asked the nephew no i'm in the house of my own said the uncle defiantly with the best little woman in the midlands she's a marvel why don't you come and see us

i will who is she oh she's a good girl a beautiful little thing i was clean gone on her first time i saw her and she was on me her mother lives with us respectable girl none of your and how old is she how old is she twenty-one poor thing she is right enough you marry her getting a divorce i shall marry her i shall marry her there was a little antagonism between the two men where's aunt maud asked her younger she's at the railway arms we passed it just against rolling's mill crossing they sent me a note this morning to go and see her when i can spare time she got consumption good lord are you going yes but again berry felt that his uncle was afraid the young man got through his commission in the village had a drink with his uncle at the inn and the two were returning home the elder man's subject of conversation was australia as they drew near the town they grew silent thinking both of the public house at last they saw the gates of the railway crossing were closed before them shan't you cool asked berry jerking his head in the direction of the inn which stood at the corner between two roads its sign hanging under a bare horse-chestnut tree in front i must as well come in another drink said the uncle it had been raining all the morning so shallow pools of water lay about a brewer's wagon with wet barrels and warm-smelling horses stood near the door of the inn everywhere seemed silent but for the rattle of trains at the crossing the two men went uneasily up the steps and into the bar the place was paddled with wet feet empty

as the barman was heard approaching the uncle asked his usual bluster slightly hushed by fear what you're going to have lad same as last time a man entered evidently the proprietor he was good-looking with a long heavy face and quick dark eyes his glance at sutton was swift a start a recognition and a withdrawal into heavy neutrality how are you dan he said scarcely troubling to speak are you george replied sutton hanging back my nephew dan berry give us red seal george the publican nodded to the younger man and set the glasses on the bar he pushed forward the two glasses then leaned back in the dark corner behind the door his arms folded evidently preferring to get back from the door his arms folded evidently preferring to get back from the door the watchful eyes of the nephew. His lot, said Sutton. The publican nodded in acknowledgement. Sutton and his nephew drank.

Why the hell don't you get that robe mended in Cinder Hill? Said Sutton fiercely, pushing back his driver's cap and showing his short cut, bristling hair. They can't fight in their hearts to pull it up, replied the public and laconically. Fight it in their hearts? they want sitting in borrows and running up and down it till they cried for mercy sutton put down his glass the publican renewed it with a sure hand at ease in whatsoever he did then he leaned back against the bar he wore no coat he stood with arms folded his chin on his chest his long moustache hanging his back was round and slack so that the lower part

of his abdomen stuck forward, though he was not stout. His cheek was healthy, brown-red, and he was muscular. Yet there was about him this physical slackness, a reluctance in his slow, sure movements. His eyes were keen under his dark brows, but reluctant also, as if he were gloomily apathetic. There was a halt. The publican evidently would say nothing. very looked at the mahogany bar counter slopped with beer at the whisky bottles on the shelves sutton his cap pushed back showing a white brow above a weather-reddened face rubbed his cropped hair uneasily the publican glanced round suddenly it seemed that only his dark eyes moved going up he asked and something perhaps his eyes indicated the unseen bearer chamber ay that's what i've came for replied sutton shifting nervously from one foot to the other she's been asking for me this morning replied the public and neutral then he put up a flap of the bar and turned away through the dark doorway behind sutton pulling off his cap showing a round short-cropped head which now was ducked forward followed

after him the buttons holding the strap of his great coat behind glittering for a moment end of section thirteen section fourteen of england my england by d h lawrence this librovoc's recording is in the public domain recording by antony ogus they climb the dark stairs the husband placing his feet carefully because of his big boots trying vaguely to keep a grip on his bowels which seemed to be melting away and definitely wishing for a neat brandy the publican opened a door sutton big and burly in his great coat went past him the bedroom seemed light and warm after the passage there was a red eider down on the bed then making an effort sutton turned his eyes to see the sick woman he met her eyes direct, dark, dilated. It was such a shock he almost started away. For a second he remained in torture, as if some invisible flame were playing on him to reduce his bones and fuse him down. Then he saw the sharp wide edge of her jaw and the black hair beside the hollow cheek. With a start he went towards the bed. "'Hello, Maud,' he said. "'Why, what are you been doing?' The publican stood at the window with his back to the bed.

The husband, like one condemned, but on the point of starting away, stood by the bedside, staring at horror at his wife, whose dilated grey eyes, nearly all black now, watched him wearily, as if she were looking at something a long way off. going exceedingly pale he jerked up his head and stared at the wall over the pillows there was a little coloured picture of a bird perched on a bell and a nest among icy leaves beneath it appealed to him made him wonder roused a feeling of childish magic in him they were wonderfully fresh green ivy leaves and nobody had seen the nest among them save him then suddenly he looked down again at the face on the bed to try and recognise it he knew the white brow and the beautiful clear eyebrows that was his wife with whom he had passed his youth fresh of his flesh his himself then those tired eyes which met his again from a long way off disturbed him until he did not know where he was

only the sunken cheeks and the mouth that seemed to protrude now were foreign to him and filled him with horror it seemed he lost his identity he was the young husband of the woman with the clear brows he was the married man fighting with her whose eyes watched him a little indifferently from a long way off and he was a child in horror of that protruding mouth there came a crackling sound of her voice he knew she had consumption of the throat and braced himself hard to bear the noise what was it maud he asked in panic then the broken crackling voice came again he was too terrified of the sound of it to hear what was said there was a pause you'll take winnie the publican's voice interpreted from the window don't you bother maud i'll take her he said stupefying his mind so is not to understand he looked curiously round the room it was not a bad bedroom light and warm. There were many medicine bottles aggregated in a corner of the washstand

and a bottle of three-star brandy, half full. And there are also photographs of strange people on the chest of drawers. It was not a bad room. Again he started as if he was shot. She was speaking.

He bent down, but did not look at her. Be good to her, she whispered. when he realised her meaning that he should be good to their child when the mother was gone a blade went through his flesh i'll be good to her more don't you bother he said beginning to feel shaky he looked again at the picture of the bird it perched cheerfully under a blue sky with robust jolly ivy leaves near he was gathering his courage to depart he looked down but struggled hard not to take in the sight of his wife's face i shall come again maud he said i hope you'll go on all right is there anything as you want there was an almost imperceptible shake of the head from the sick woman making his heart melt swiftly again then dragging his limbs he got out of the room and down the stairs the landlord came after him i'll let you know if anything happens the publican said still the conic but with his eyes dark and swift ay all right said sutton blindly

he looked round for his cap which he had all the time in his hand then he got out of doors in a moment the uncle and nephew were in the car jolting on the level crossing the older man seemed as if some something tight in his brain made him open his eyes wide and stare he held the steering wheel firmly he knew he could steer accurately to a hair's breadth glaring fixedly ahead he let the car go till it bounded over the uneven road there were three coal carts in a string in an instant the car grazed past them almost biting the curb on the other side Sutton aimed his car like a projectile, staring ahead. He did not want to know, to think, to realise. He wanted to be only the driver of that quick taxi. The town drew near suddenly. There are allotment gardens with dark, purple, twiggy fruit trees

and wet alleys between the hedges. Then suddenly the streets of dwelling houses whirled close, and the car was climbing the hill with an angry whir up up till they rode out onto the crest and could see the tram cars dark red and yellow threading their way round the corner below and all the traffic roaring between the shops got anywhere to go asked satin of his nephew i was going to see one or two people come and have a bit of dinner with us said the other berry knew that his uncle wanted to be distracted so that he should not think nor realise the big man was running hard away from the horror of realisation all right berry agreed the car went quickly through the town it ran up a long street nearly into the country again then it pulled up at a house that stood alone below the road i shall be back in ten minutes said the uncle the car went on to the garage berry stood curiously at the top of the stone stairs that led from the high road down to the level of the house an old stone place the garden was dilapidated broken fruit trees leaned at a sharp angle down the steep bank right across the dim gray atmosphere in a kind of valley on the edge of town

new suburb patches showed pinkish on the dark earth it was a kind of unresolved borderland berry went down the steps through the broken-black fence of the orchard long grass showed yellow. The place seemed deserted. He knocked, then knocked again. An elderly woman appeared. She looked like a housekeeper. At first she said suspiciously that Mr. Sutton was not in. My uncle just put me down. He'll be in in in ten minutes, replied the visitor. How are you the Mr. Berry who is related to him? exclaimed the elderly woman. Come in. come in she was at once kindly and a little bit servile the young man entered it was an old house rather dark and sparsely furnished the elderly woman sat nervously on the edge of one of the chairs in a drawing-room that looked as if it were furnished from dismal relics of dismal homes and there was little straggling attempt at conversation mrs greenwell was evidently a working-class woman, unused to service or to any formality. Presently, she gathered up courage to invite her visitor into the dining-room.

There from the table under the window rose a tall, slim girl with a cat in her arms. She was evidently a little more ladylike than was habitual to her, but she had a gentle, delicate, small nature. Her brown hair almost covered her ears, her dark lashes came down in shy awkwardness over her beautiful blue eyes. She shook hands in a frank way, yet she was shrinking.

Evidently she was not sure how her position would affect her visitor, and yet she was assured in herself, shrinking and timid as she was. She must be a good deal in love with him, thought Barry. both women glanced shamefacedly at the roughly laid table evidently they ate in a rather rough and ready fashion elaine she had this poetic name fingered her cap timidly not knowing what to say or to do unable even to ask her visitor to sit down he noticed how her skirt hung almost flat on her hips she was young scarce developed a long slender thing her colouring was warm and exquisite

the older woman bustled out to the kitchen berry fondled the terrier dogs that had come curiously to his heels and glanced out of the window at the wet deserted orchard this room too was not well furnished and rather dark, but there was a big red fire. He always has fox terriers, he said. Yes, she answered, showing her teeth in a smile. Do you like them too? Yes, she glanced down at the dogs. I like Tam better than Sally. Her speech always tailed off into an awkward silence.

We've been to see Aunt Maud, said the nephew. her eyes blue and scared and shrinking met his dan had a letter he explained she's very bad isn't it horrible she exclaimed her face crumbling up with fear the old woman evidently a hard-used rather down-truddened workman's wife came in with two soup-plates she glanced anxiously to see how her daughter was progressing with a visitor Mother, Dan's been to see more, said Elaine, in a quiet voice, full of fear and trouble. The old woman looked up anxiously in question. I think she wanted him to take the child. She's very bad, I believe, explained Barry. Oh, we should take Winnie, cried Elaine.

But both women seemed uncertain, wavering in their... position. Already Barry could see that his uncle had bullied them as he bullied everybody, but they were used to unpleasant men and seemed to keep at a distance. "'Will you have some soup?' asked the mother, humbly. She evidently did the work. The daughter was to be a lady, more or less, always dressed and nice for when Sutton came in. they heard him heavily running down the steps outside the dogs got up elaine seemed to forget the visitor it was as if she came into life yet she was nervous and afraid the mother stood as if ready to exculpate herself sutton burst open the door big blustering wet in his immense grey coat he came into the dining-room hello he said to his nephew making yourself at home oh yes replied berry hello jack he said to the girl got out to grizzle about

what for she asked in a clear half-challenging voice that had that peculiar twang almost petulant so female and so attractive yet she was defiant like a boy it's a wonder if you haven't growled sutton and with a really intimate movement he stooped down and fondled his dogs though paying no attention to them then he stood up and remained with feet apart on the hearthrug his head ducked forward watching the girl he seemed abstracted as if he could only watch her his great coat hung open so that she could see his figure simple in huvour in the great husk of cloth she stood nervously with her hands behind her glancing at him unable to see anything else and he was scarcely conscious but of her his eyes were still strained and staring and as they followed the girl when long-limbed and language she moved away it was as if he saw in her something impersonal the female not the woman had your dinner he asked we were just going to have it she replied with the same curious little vibration in her voice like the twang of a string the mother entered bringing a saucepan from which she ladled soup into three plates sit down laden said sutton you sit down jack and give me mine here oh aren't you coming to table she complained no I tell you, he snarled, almost pretending to be disagreeable.

But she was slightly afraid even of the pretense which pleased and relieved him. He stood on the hearthrug eating his soup noisily. Aren't you going to take your coat off? she said. It's filling the place full of steam. He did not answer, but with his head bent forward over the plate, he ate his soup hastily to get it done with. When he put down his empty plate, she rose and went him. Do take your coat off, Dan, she said,

and she took hold of the breast of his coat, trying to push it back over his shoulder. But she could not. Only the stare in his eyes changed to a glare as her hand moved over his shoulder. He looked down into her eyes. She became pale, rather frightened looking, and she turned her face away, and it was drawn slightly with love and fear and misery. She tried again to put off his coat, her thin wrists pulling at it.

He stood solidly planted, and did not look at her, but stared straight in front. She was playing with passion, afraid of it, and really wretched because it left her the person, out of count. Yet she continued. And there came into his bearing, into his eyes, the curious smile of passion, pushing away even the death-horror. It was life stronger than death in him. She stood close to his breast. Their eyes met, and she was carried away. Take your coat off, Dan, she said coaxingly. in a low tone meant for no one but him, and she slid her hands on his shoulder,

and he yielded, so that the coat was pushed back. She had flushed, and her eyes had grown very bright. She got hold of the cuff of his coat. Gently he eased himself, so that she drew it off. Then he stood in a thin suit, which revealed his vigorous, almost mature form. what a wait she exclaimed in a peculiar penetrating voice as she went out hugging the overcoat in a moment she came back he stood still in the same position a frown over his fiercely staring eyes the pain the fear the horror in his breast were all burning away in the new fiercest flame of passion get your dinner he said roughly too

her i've had all i want she said you come and have yours he looked at the table as if he found it difficult to see things i want no more he said she stood close to his chest she wanted to touch him and to comfort him there was something about him now that fascinated her berry felt slightly ashamed that she seemed to ignore the presence of others in the room the mother came in she glanced at sutton standing planted on the hearthrug his head ducked the heavy frown hiding his eyes there was a peculiar braced intensity about him that made the elder woman afraid suddenly he jerked his head round to his nephew get on with your dinner lad he said and he went to the door the dogs which had continually lain down and got up again uneasy now rose and watched the girl went after him saying clearly what did you want dan her slim quick figure was gone the door was closed behind her there was silence the mother still more slave-like in her movement sat down in a low chair berry drank some beer that girl will leave him he said to himself she'll hate him like poison and serve him right then she'll go off with somebody else and she did end of section fourteen section fifteen of england my england by d h lawrence this lee revux recording is in the public domain recording by antony ogus

the horse dealer's daughter well mabel what are you going to do with yourself asked joe with foolish flippancy he felt quite safe himself without listening for an answer he turned aside worked a grain of tobacco to the tip of his tongue and spat it out. He did not care about anything, since he felt safe himself. The three brothers and the sister sat round the desolate breakfast table, attempting some sort of desultory consultation. The morning's post had given the final tap to the family fortunes, and all was over. The dreary dining-room itself, with its heavy mahogany furniture, looked as if it were waiting to be done away with. But the consultation amounted to nothing. There was a strange air of ineffectuality about the three men as they sprawled at table, smoking, and reflecting vaguely on their own condition.

The girl was alone, a rather short, sullen-looking young woman of twenty-seven. she did not share the same life as her brothers she would have been good-looking save for the impassive fixity of her face bull-dog as her brothers called it there was a confused tramping of horses feet outside the three men all sprawled round in their chairs to watch beyond the dark holly bushes that separated the strip of lawn from the high road they could see a cavalcade of shire horses swinging out of their own yard, being taken for exercise. This was the last time. These were the last horses that would go through their hands. The young men watch with critical, callous look. They were all frightened at the collapse of their lives, and the sense of disaster in which they were involved left them no inner freedom. Yet there were three fine, well-set fellows enough, Joe, the eldest, was a man of 33, broad and handsome, in a hot-flushed way.

His face was red. He twisted his black moustache over a thick finger. His eyes were shallow and restless. He had a sensual way of uncovering his teeth when he laughed, and his bearing was stupid. Now he watched the horses with a glazed look of helplessness in his eyes, a certain stupor of downfall. the great draught horses swung past they were tied head to tail four of them and they heaved along to where a lane branched off from the high road planting their great hoofs floutingly in the fine black mud swinging their great rounded haunches sumptuously and trotting a few sudden steps as they were led into the lane round the corner every movement showed a massive slumberous strength and a stupidity which held them in subjection.

The groom at the head looked back, jerking the leading rope, and the cavalcade moved out of sight up the lane, the tail of the last horse, bobbed up tight and stiff, held out taut from the swinging great haunches as they rocked behind the hedges in a motion-like sleep. Joe watched with glazed hopeless eyes.

The horses were almost like his, own body to him. He felt he was done for now. Luckily he was engaged to a woman as old as himself, and therefore her father, who was a steward of a neighbouring estate, would provide him with a job. He would marry and go into harness. His life was over. He would be a subject animal now. He turned uneasily aside, the retreating steps of the horses echoing in his ears. then with foolish restlessness he reached for the scraps of bacon rind from the plates and making a faint whistling sound flung them to the terrier that lay against the fender he watched the dog swallow them and waited till the creature looked into his eyes then a faint grin came on his face and in a high foolish voice he said you won't get much more bacon shall you you little bugger the dog faintly and dismally wagged its tail then lowered his haunches circled round and lay down again there was another helpless silence at the table

joe sprawled uneasily in his seat not willing to go till the family conclave was dissolved fred henry the second brother was erect clean limb alert he had watched the passing of the horse with more sans-froix if he was an animal like joe he was an animal which controls not one which is controlled he was master of any horse and he carried himself with the well-tempered air of mastery but he was not master of the situations of life he pushed his coarse brown moustache upwards off his lip and glanced irritably at his sister who sat in passers and inscrutable. You'll go and step with Lucy for a bitch, aren't you? he asked. The girl did not answer. I don't see what else you can do, persisted Fred Henry. Girl was a skivy. Joe interpolated laconically. The girl did not move a muscle.

If I was her, I should go in for training for a nurse, said Malcolm, the youngest of them all. he was the baby of the family a young man of twenty-two with a fresh jaunty mousseau but mabel did not take any notice of him they had talked at her and round her for so many years that she hardly heard them at all the marble clock on the mantelpiece softly chimed the half-hour the dog rose uneasily from the hearthrug and looked at the party at the breakfast-table but still they sat on in ineffectual conclave oh all right said joe suddenly apropos of nothing i'll get a move on he pushed back his chair straddled his knees with a downward jerk to get them free in hoarsy fashion and went to the fire still he did not go out of the room he was curious to know what the others would do or say he began to charge his pipe looking down at the dog and saying in a high-affected voice going with me going with me eater that going further than thou can't than just now just here the dog faintly wagged its tail the man stuck out his jaw and covered his pipe with his hands and puffed intently losing himself in the tobacco looking down all the while at the dog with an absent brown eye

the dog looked up at him in mournful distrust joe stood with his knees stuck out in real hoarsy fashion have you held letter from lucy fred henry asked of his sister last week came the neutral reply and what does she say there was no answer does she ask you to go and stop there persisted fred henry she says i can if i like well then you're better tell her you'll come on monday this was received in silence that's what you'll do then is it said fred henry in some exasperation but she made no answer there was a silence of futility and irritation in the room malcolm grinned fatuously you'll have to make up your mind between now and ex-wensay said joe loudly or else find yourself lodgings on the kerbbs stone. The face of the young woman darkened, but she sat on immutable. "'He's Jack Ferguson!' exclaimed Malcolm, who was looking aimlessly out of the window. "'Where?' exclaimed Joe loudly. "'Just come past.' "'Coming in?'

Malcolm cranes his neck to see the gate. "'Yes,' he said. There was a silence. Mabel sat on like one condemned at the head of the table. Then a whistle was heard from the kitchen. The dog got up and barked sharply. Joe opened the door and shouted, Come on!

After a moment a young man entered. He was muffled up in overcoat and a purple woolen scarf and his tweed cap, which he did not remove, was pulled down on his head. he was of medium height his face was rather long and pale his eyes looked tired hello jack well jack exclaimed malcolm and joe fred henley merely said jack what's doing asked the newcomer evidently addressing fred henry same we've got to be out by wednesday got a cold i have got it bad too Why don't you stop in? Me, stop in?

When I can't stand on my legs, perhaps I shall have a chance. The young man spoke huskily. He had a slight scotch accent. It's a knockout, isn't it? said Joe, boisterously. If a doctor goes round croaking with a cold, looks bad for the patience, doesn't it? The young doctor looked at him slowly. Anything the matter with you, then?

He said sarcastically. not as i know of damn your eyes i hope not why i thought you'd be very concerned about the patients wondered if you might be one yourself damn it no i never been patient no flaming doctor i hope i never shall be returned joe at this point mabel rose from the table and they all seemed to become aware of her existence she began putting the dishes together the young doctor looked at her but did not address her he had not greeted her she went out of the room with the tray her face impassive and unchanged when you are off then all of you asked the doctor i'm catching the eleven forty replied malcolm are you going down with a trap joe yes i've told you i'm going down with the trap haven't i we'd better be gelling her in then so long jack if i don't see you before i go said malcolm shaking hands he went out followed by joe who seemed to have his tail between his legs well this is the devil's own exclaimed the doctor when he was left alone with fred henry "'Geeing before Wednesday, are you?' "'That's the orders,' replied the other.

"'Where, to Northampton?' "'That's it.' "'The devil!' exclaimed Ferguson, with quiet chagrin. "'And there was silence between the two. "'I'll settle up, I asked Ferguson. "'About.' "'There was another pause. "'Well, I shall miss you, Freddy Boy,' said the young doctor,

"'and I shall miss this. see, Jack, returned the other. Miss I'll help, mused the doctor. Fred Henry turned aside. There was nothing to say. Mabel came in again to finish clearing the table. What you gonna know then, Miss Pervin? asked Ferguson. Go ain't you sisters, are you? Mabel looked at him with her steady, dangerous eyes

that always made him uncomfortable. unsettling his superficial ease no she said well what in the name of fortune are you going to do say what you mean to do cried fred henry with futile intensity but she only averted her head and continued her work she folded the white table-cloth and put on the chanil cloth the sulcus bitch that ever trod muttered her brother but she finished her task with perfectly impassive face, the young doctor watching her interestedly all the while. Then she went out. Fred Henry stared after her, clenching his lips, his blue eyes fixed in sharp antagonism as he made a grimace of sour exasperation. You could bray her into bit, and that's all you get out of her, he said in a small, narrowed tone. The doctor smiled, faintly what's she gonna do then he asked strike me if i know returned the other there was a pause then the doctor stirred

i'll be seeing you to-night shall i he said to his friend ay where's it to be we going over to jestdale i don't know i've got such a cold on me i'll come round to the moon and stars anyway let lizzie and may miss their night for once eh that's it it's high fill as i do now all's one the two young men went through the passage and down to the back door together the house was large but it was servantless now and desolate at the back was a small bricked house-yard and beyond that a big square gravelled fine and red and having stables on two sides sloping dank winter-dark fields stretched away on the open sides. But the stables were empty. Joseph Pervin, the father of the family, had been a man of no education, who had become a fairly large horse dealer. The stables had been full of horses, there was a great turmoil and come and go of horses, and of dealers and grooms. Then the kitchen was full of servants, but of late things had declined. The old man had married a second time to retrieve his fortunes. Now he was dead, and everything was gone to the dogs.

There was nothing but debt and threatening. For months Mabel had been servantless in the big house, keeping the home together in penury for her ineffectual brothers. She had kept house for ten years, but previously it was with unstinted means. Then, however brutal and coarse everything was, the sense of money had kept her proud confident the men might be foul-mouthed the women in the kitchen might have bad reputations her brothers might have illegitimate children but so long as there was money the girl felt herself established and brutally proud reserved no company came to the house save dealers and coarse men mabel had no associates of her own sex after her sister went away but she did not mind she went regularly to church she attended to her father and she lived in the memory of her mother who had died when she was fourteen and whom she had loved she had loved her father too in a different way depending upon him and feeling securing him until at the age of fifty-four he married again and then she had set hard against him now he had died and left them all hopelessly in debt she had suffered badly during the period of poverty nothing however could shake the curious sullen animal pride that dominated each member of the family

now for mabel the end had come still she would not cast about her she would follow her own way just the same she would always hold the keys of her own situation mindless and persistent she endured from day to day why should she think why should she answer anybody it was enough that this was the end and there was no way out she need not pass any more darkly along the main street of the small town avoiding every eye she need not demean herself any more going to the shops and buying the cheapest food this was at an end she thought of nobody not even of herself mindless and persistent she seemed in a sort of ecstasy to be coming nearer to her fulfilment her own glorification approaching her dead mother who was glorified in the afternoon she took a little bag with shears and sponge and a small scrubbing brush and went out it was a grey wintry day with sad and dark green fields and an atmosphere fear blackened by the smoke of foundries not far off. She went quickly, darkly, along the causeway, heeding nobody, through the town to the churchyard. There she always felt secure, as if no one could see her, although as a matter of fact she was

exposed to the stare of everyone who passed along under the churchyard wall. Nevertheless, once under the shadow of the great looming church among the graves, She felt immune from the world, reserved within the thick churchyard wall as in another country. Carefully she clipped the grass from the grave and arranged the pinky-white small chrysanthemums in the tin cross. When this was done, she took an empty jar from a neighbouring grave, brought water, and carefully, most scrupulously, sponged the marble headstone and the coping stone. It gave her sincere satisfaction to do this. She felt an immediate contact with the world of her mother.

She took minute pains, went through the park in a state bordering on pure happiness, as if in performing this task, she came into a subtle, intimate connection with her mother. For the life she followed here in the world was far less real than the world of death she inherited from her mother. end of section fifteen section sixteen of england my england by d h lawrence this libre vox recording is in the public domain recording by antony ogus the doctor's house was just by the church fergus fergus being a mere hired assistant was slave to the countryside as he hurried now to attend to the outpatients in the surgery glancing across the graveyard with his quick eye he saw the girl at her task at the grave she seemed so intent and remote it was like looking into another world some mystical element was touched in him he slowed down as he walked watching her as if spellbound she lifted her eyes feeling him looking their eyes met

and each looked again at once, each feeling in some way found out by the other. He lifted his cap and passed on down the road. There remained distinct in his consciousness, like a vision, the memory of her face, and lifted from the tombstone in the churchyard, and looking at him, with slow, large, portentous eyes. It was portentous, her face.

It seemed to mesmerize, him there was a heavy power in her eyes which laid hold of his whole being as if he had drunk some powerful drug he had been feeling weak and done before now the life came back into him he felt delivered from his own fretted daily self he finished his duties at the surgery as quickly as might be hastily filling up the bottles of the waiting people with cheap drugs then in perpetual haste he set off again to visit several cases in another part of his round before tea-time at all times he preferred to walk if he could but particularly when he was not well he fancied the motion restored him the afternoon was falling it was grey deadened and wintry with a slow moist heavy coldness sinking in and deadening all the faculties but why should he think or notice he hastily climbed the hill and turned across the dark green fields following the black cinded track in the distance across a shallow dip in the country the small town was clustered like smouldering ash a tower a spire a heap of low raw extinct houses and on the nearest fringe of the town sloping into the dip was old meadow the purvin's house he could see the stables and the outbuildings distinctly as they lay towards him on the slope well he would not go there many more times

another resource would be lost to him another place gone the only company he cared for in the alien ugly little town he was losing nothing but work drudgery constant hastening from dwelling to dwelling among the colliers and the iron workers. It wore him out, but at the same time he had a craving for it. It was a stimulant to him to be in the homes of the working people, moving as it were through the innermost body of their life. His nerves were excited and gratified. He could come so near into the very lives of the rough, inarticulate, powerfully emotional men and women. He grumbled, he said he hated the hellish hole, but as a matter of fact it excited him, the contact with the rough, strongly feeling people was a stimulant applied direct to his nerves. Below old meadow in the green, shallow, soddened hollow of fields lay a square deep pond. Roving across the landscape,

the doctor's quick eye detected a figure in black passing through the gate of the field, down towards the pond. He looked again. It would be Mabel Purvin. His mind suddenly became alive and attentive. Why was she going down there? He pulled up on the path on the slope above and stood staring.

He could just make sure of the small black figure moving in the hollow of the failing day. He seemed to see her in the midst of such obscurity that he was like a clairvoyant, seeing rather with the mind's eye than with ordinary sight yet he could see her positively enough whilst he kept his eye attentive he felt if he looked away from her in the thick ugly fooling dusk he would lose her altogether he followed her minutely as she moved direct an intent like something transmitted rather than stirring involuntary activity straight down the field towards the pond there she was she moved direct an intent like something transmitted rather than stirring in voluntary activity straight down the field towards the pond There she stood on the bank for a moment. She never raised her head, then she waded slowly into the water. He stood motionless as the small black figure walked slowly and deliberately towards the centre of the pond, very slowly,

gradually moving deeper into the motionless water, and still moving forward as the water got up to her breast. Then he could see her no more in the dusk of the dead armament. afternoon. There, he exclaimed, why'd you believe it? And he hastened straight down, running over the wet, sodden fields, pushing through the hedges, down into the depression of callous, wintry obscurity. It took him several minutes to come to the pond. He stood on the bank, breathing heavily. He could see nothing. His eyes seemed to penetrate the dead water. Yes, perhaps that was the dark shadow of her black clothing beneath the surface of the water. He slowly ventured into the pond. The bottom was deep, soft clay. He sank in, and the water

clasped dead cold round his legs. As he stirred, he could smell the cold, rotten clay that fouled up into the water. It was objectionable in his lungs. Still repelled and yet not heeding, he moved deeper into the pond. The cold water rose over his thighs, over his loins, upon his abdomen. The lower part of his body was all sunk in the hideous cold element, and the bottom was so deeply soft and uncertain

he was afraid of pitching with his mouth underneath. He could not swim and was afraid. He crouched a little, spreading his hands under the water, and moving them round trying to feel for her the dead cold pond swayed upon his chest he moved again a little deeper and again with his hands underneath he felt all around under the water and he touched her clothing but it evaded his fingers he made a desperate effort to grasp it and so doing he lost his balance and went under horribly suffocating in the way to evade his fingers he made a desperate effort to grasp it and so doing he lost his balance and went under horribly suffocating in the the foul, earthy water, struggling madly for a few moments. At last, after what seemed an eternity, he got his footing, rose again into the air, and looked around. He gasped, and knew he was in the

world. Then he looked at the water. She had risen near him. He grasped her clothing, and drawing her nearer, turned to take his way to land again. He went very slowly, carefully, absorbed in the slow progress. He rose higher, climbing out of the pond. The water was now only about his legs. He was thankful, full of relief to be out of the clutches of the pond. He lifted her and staggered onto the bank, out of the horror of wet, grey clay.

He lay her down on the bank. She was quite unconscious and running with water. he made the water come from her mouth he worked to restore her he did not have to work very long before he could feel the breathing begin again in her she was breathing naturally he worked a little longer he could feel her live beneath his hands she was coming back he wiped her face wrapped her in his overcoat looked round into the dim dark grey world then lifting her her and staggered down the bank and across the fields it seemed an unthinkably long way and his burden so heavy he felt he would never get to the house but at last he was in the stable yard and then in the house yard he opened the door and went into the house in the kitchen he laid her down on the hearthrug and called the house was empty but the fire was burning in the grate Then again he kneeled to attend to her. She was breathing regularly. Her eyes were wide open and as if conscious,

but there seemed something missing in her look. She was conscious in herself, but unconscious of her surroundings. He ran upstairs, took blankets from a bed, and put them before the fire to warm. Then he removed her saturated, earthy-smelling clothing. rubbed her dry with a towel and wrapped her naked in the blankets then he went into the dining-room to look for spirits there was little whisky he drank a gulp himself and put some into her mouth the effect was instantaneous she looked full into his face as if she had been seeing him for some time and yet had only just become conscious of him dr ferguson she said what he answered he was divesting himself of his coat intending to find some dry clothing upstairs he could not bear the smell of the dead clayey water and he was mortally afraid for his own health

what did i do she asked worked into the pond he replied he had begun to shudder like one sick and could hardly attend to her her eyes remained full on him he seemed to be going dark in his mind looking back at her helplessly the shuddering became quieter in him his life came back in him dark and unknowing but strong again was i out of my mind she asked while her eyes were fixed on him all the time maybe for the moment he replied he felt quiet because his strength had come back the strange fretful strain had left him am i out of my mind now she asked "'Are you?' he reflected a moment. "'No,' he answered truthfully. "'I don't see that you are.' He turned his face aside. He was afraid now because he felt dazed

and felt dimly that her power was stronger than his in this issue, and she continued to look at him fixedly all the time. "'Can you tell me where I shall find some dry things to put on?' he asked did you dive into the pond for me she asked no he answered i walked in but i went in overhead as well there was silence for a moment he hesitated he very much wanted to go upstairs to get into dry clothing but there was another desire in him and she seemed to hold him his will seemed to have gone to sleep and left him stand him stand to have gone to sleep and left him stand standing there slack before her. But he felt warm inside himself. He did not shudder at all, though his clothes were sodden on him. Why did you? she asked. Because I didn't want you to do such a foolish thing, he said. It wasn't foolish, she said, still gazing at him as she lay on the

floor with a sofa cushion under her head. It was the right thing to do. I knew. I knew. best then? I'll go and shift these wet things, he said. But still he had not the power to move out of her presence until she sent him. It was as if she had the life of his body in her hands and he could not extricate himself, or perhaps he did not want to. Suddenly she sat up. Then she became aware of her own immediate condition. She felt the blankets about her. she knew her own limbs for a moment it seemed as if her reason were going she looked round with wild eye as if seeking something he stood still with fear she saw her clothing lying scattered who undress me she asked her eyes resting full and inevitable on his face me around. For some moments she sat and gazed at him awfully. Her lips parted. Do you love me then?

She asked. He only stood and stared at her, fascinated. His soul seemed to melt. She shuffled forward on her knees and put her arms round him, round his legs, as he stood there, pressing her breasts against his knees and thineasped. eyes, clutching him with strange convulsive certainty, pressing his thighs against her, drawing him to her face, her throat, as she looked up at him with flaring, humble eyes of transfiguration, triumphant in first possession. "'You love me,' she murmured, in strange transport, yearning and triumphant and confident. "'You love me. I know you love me. I know you love me. I know. and she was passionately kissing his knees through the wet clothing passionately and indiscriminately kissing his knees his legs as if unaware of everything he looked down at the tangled wet hair the wild bare animal shoulders he was amazed bewildered and afraid he had never thought of loving her he had never wanted to love her when he rescued her and he rescued her and he rescued her and he rescued her and he had never thought of loving her-he had never wanted to love her when he rescued her and restored her he was a doctor and she was a patient he had no single personal thought of her nay this introduction of the personal element was very distasteful to him a violation of his professional honour

it was horrible to have her there embracing his knees it was horrible he revolted from it violently and yet-and yet-he had not the power to bring her to bring him to bring him-he was horrible he revolted from it violently and yet-and yet-he had not the power to break break away. She looked at him again with the same supplication of powerful love and that same transcendent, frightening light of triumph. In view of the delicate flame which seemed to come from her face like a light, he was powerless, and yet he had never intended to love her. He had never intended, and something stubborn in him could not give way. You love me, she repeated, in a murmur of deep rhapsodic assurance. You love me. Her hands were drawing him, drawing him down to her.

He was afraid, even a little horrified, for he had really no intention of loving her. Yet her hands were drawing him towards her. He put out his hand quickly to steady himself and grasped her bare shoulder. A flame seemed to burn the hand that grasped her soft shoulder. He had no intention of loving her. His whole will was against his yielding.

It was horrible. And yet wonderful was the touch of her shoulders, beautiful the shining of her face. Was she perhaps mad? He had a horror of yielding to her, yet something in him ached also. He had been staring away at the door, away from her. But his hand remained on her shoulder.

she had gone suddenly very still he looked down at her her eyes were now wide with fear with doubt the light was dying from her face a shadow of terrible greyness was returning he could not bear the touch of her eyes question upon him and the look of death behind the question with an inward groan he gave way and let his heart yield towards her a sudden gentle smile came on his face and her eyes which never left his face slowly slowly filled with tears he watched the strange water rise in her eyes like some slow fountain coming up and his heart seemed to burn and melt away in his breast he could not bear to look at her any more he dropped on his knees and caught her head with his arms and he dropped on his knees and caught her head with his arms and he had been to burn and melt her head with his breast and he could not bear to look at her head with his arm's and pressed her face against his throat. She was very still. His heart, which seemed to have broken, was burning with a kind of agony in his breast,

and he felt her slow, hot tears, wetting his throat, but he could not move. He felt the hot tears wet his neck and the hollows of his neck, and he remained motionless, suspended through one of man's eternities. only now it had become indispensable to him to have her face pressed close to him

he could never let her go again he could never let her head go away from the close clutch of his arm he wanted to remain like that forever with his heart hurting him in a pain that was also life to him without knowing he was looking down on her damp soft brown hair then as it were suddenly he smelt the horrible stagnant smell of that water and at the same moment she drew away from him and looked at him her eyes were wistful and unfathomable he was afraid of them and he fell to kissing her not knowing what he was doing he wanted her eyes not to have that terrible wistful unfathomable look when she turned her face to him again a faint delicate flush was glowing and there was again dawning that terrible shining of joy in her eyes which really terrified him and yet which he now wanted to see because he feared the look of doubt still more you love me she said rather faltering yes the word cost him a painful effort not because it wasn't true but because it was too newly true

the saying seemed to tear open again his newly torn heart and he hardly wanted it to be true even now she lifted her face to him and he bent forward and kissed her on her the mouth gently with the one kiss that is an eternal pledge and as he kissed her his heart strained again in his breast he never intended to love her but now it was over he had crossed over the gulf to her and all that he had left behind had shriveled and become void after the kiss her eyes again slowly filled with tears. She sat still away from him, with her face drooped aside, and her hands folded in her lap. The tears fell very slowly. There was complete silence. He too sat there motionless and silent on the hearthrug. The strange pain of his heart that was broken seemed to consume him. That he should love her. That this was love, that he should be ripped open in this way, him a doctor, how they

would all jeer if they knew. It was agony to him to think they might know. In the curious, naked pain of the thought, he looked again to her. She was sitting there drooped into a muse. He saw a tear fall and his heart flared hot. He saw for the first time, that one of her shoulders was quite uncovered, one arm bare, he could see one of her small breasts, dimly, because it had become almost dark in the room. Why are you crying? he asked in an altered voice. She looked up at him, and behind her tears, the consciousness of her situation, for the first time, brought a dark look of shame to her eyes. I am not crying, really, she said.

watching him half frightened. He reached his hand and softly closed it on her bare arm. I love you. I love you, he said in a soft, low, vibrating voice, unlike himself. She shrank and dropped her head. The soft, penetrating grip of his hand on her arm

distressed her. She looked up at him. I want to go, she said. I want to go. to go and get you some dry things. Why? he said. I'm all right. But I want to go, she said, and I want you to change your things. He released her arm, and she wrapped herself in the blanket, looking at him, rather

frightened, and still she did not rise. Kiss me, she said wistfully. He kissed her, but briefly, half in anger. Then after a second, she had. rose nervously, all mixed up in the blanket. He watched her in her confusion as she tried to extricate herself and wrap herself up so that she could walk. He watched her relentlessly as she knew, and as she went the blanket trailing, and as he saw a glimpse of her feet and her white leg, he tried to remember her as she was when he had wrapped her in the blanket. But then he didn't want to remember, because she had been nothing to him then, and his nature revolted from remembering

her as she was when she was nothing to him. A tumbling muffled noise from within the dark house startled him. Then he heard her voice, "'There are clothes.' He rose and went to the foot of the stairs and gathered up the garments she had thrown down. Then he came back to the fire to rub himself down and dress. He grinned at his own appearance when he had finished. The fire was sinking, so he put on coal. The house was now quite dark, save for the light of a street lamp that shone in faintly from beyond the holly trees. He lit the gas with matches he found on the mantelpiece. Then he emptied the pockets of his own clothes and threw all his wet things in a heap into the scullery. after which he gathered up her sudden clothes gently

and put them in a separate heap on the copper top in the scullery. It was six o'clock on the clock, his own watch had stopped. He ought to go back to the surgery. He waited, and still she did not come down, so he went to the foot of the stairs and called, I shall have to go! Almost immediately he heard her coming down. she had on her best dress of black vual and her hair was tidy but still damp she looked at him and in spite of herself smiled

i don't like you in the youth's clothes she said do i look a sight he answered they were shy of one another i'll make you some tea she said no i must go must you and she looked at him again with the wide strained doubtful eyes and again from the pain of his breast he knew how he loved her he went and bent to kiss her gently passionately with his heart's painful kiss and my hair smells so horrible she murmured in distraction and i'm so awful i'm so awful oh no i'm too awful and she broke into bitter heart-broken sobbing you caught I want to love me. I'm horrible. Don't be silly. Don't be silly, he said, trying to comfort her, kissing her, holding her in his arms. I want you. I want to marry you. We're going to be married quickly, quickly, tomorrow if I can. But she only sobbed terribly and cried, I feel awful, I feel awful, I feel I'm horrible to you. No, I want you, I want you, was always, he answered blindly with that terrible intonation which frightened her almost more than her horror lest he should not want her end of section sixteen

section seventeen of england my england by d h lawrence this leberbox recording is in the public domain recording by antony ogus fanny and annie flame lurid his face as he turned among the throng of flame-lit and dark faces upon the platform in the light of the furnace she caught sight of his drifting countenance like a piece of floating fire and the nostalgia the doom of home-coming went through her veins like a drug his eternal face flame-lit now the pulse and darkness of red fire from the first and darkness of red fire from the first towers in the sky lighting the desultory industrial crowd on the wayside station lit him and went out of course he did not see her flame-lit and unseeing always the same with his meeting eyebrows his common cap and his red and black scarf knotted round his throat not even a collar to meet her the flames had sunk there was shadow She opened the door of her grimy branch-line carriage And began to get down her bags The porter was nowhere, of course,

But there was Harry, obscure, On the outer edge of the little crowd, missing her, of course. Here, Harry, she called, waving her umbrella in the twilight. He hurried forward. "'Thas come, astha,' he said in a sort of cheerful welcome, she got down rather flustered and gave him a peck of a kiss two soot-cases she said her soul groaned within her as he clambered into the carriage after her bags upshot the fire and the twilight sky from the great furnace behind the station she felt the red flame go across her face she had come back she had come back for good and her spirit groaned dismally. She doubted if she could bear it. There on the sordid little station, under the

furnaces, she stood, tall and distinguished, in her well-made coat and skirt, and her broad grey velour hat. She held her umbrella, her bead chatelin, and a little leather case in her grey gloved hands, while Harry staggered out of the ugly little train with her bags. there's a trunk at the back she said in her bright voice but she was not feeling bright the twin black cones of the iron foundry blasted their sky-high fires into the night the whole scene was lurid the train waited cheerfully it would wait another ten minutes she knew it it was all so deadly familiar let us confess it at once She was a lady's maid, thirty years old, come back to marry her first love, a foundry worker, after having kept him dangling off and on for a dozen years. Why had she come back? Did she love him?

No, she didn't pretend to. She had loved her brilliant and ambitious cousin who had jilted her, and who had died. She had had other affairs which had come to nothing. so here she was come back suddenly to marry her first love who had waited or remained single all these years won't a porter carry those she said as harry strode with his workman's stride down the platform towards the guards van i can manage he said and with her umbrella her chattelaine and her little leather case she followed him the trunk was there we'll get heather's greengrocer gart to fetch it up he said isn't there a cab said fanny knowing dismally enough that there wasn't i'll just put it aside of the penny in the slot and heather's greengrocer shall fetch it about half-bar state he said he seized the box by its two handles and staggered with it across the level crossing, bumping his legs against it as he waddled. Then he dropped it by the red Sweetmeats machine.

Will it be safe there? she said. Aye, safe as houses, he answered. He returned for the two bags. Thus later, and they started to plod up the hill under the great long black building of the foundry. she walked beside him workman of workmen he was trudging with that luggage the red lights flared over the deepening darkness from the foundry came the horrible slow clang clang of iron a great noise with an interval just long enough to make it unendurable compare this with the arrival at gloucester the carriage for her mistress the dog cart for herself with the luggage the drive out past the river, the pleasant trees of the carriage approach, and herself sitting beside Arthur, everybody so polite to her. She had come home for good. Her heart nearly stopped beating as she trudged up that hideous and interminable hill

beside the laden figure. What a come down! What a come down! She could not take it with her usual bright cheerfulness. she knew it all too well. It is easy to bear up against the unusual, but the deadly familiarity of an old stale past. He dumped the bags down under a lamp-post for a rest. There they stood the two of them in the lamplight.

Passers-by stared at her and gave good-night to Harry. Her they hardly knew. She had become a stranger. they're too heavy for you let me carry one she said they begin away a bit by the time you've gone a mile he answered let me carry the little one she insisted i can have it for a minute if to after mind he said handing over the valise and thus they arrived in the streets of shops of the little ugly town on top of the hill how everybody stared at her my word how they said how they said stared, and the cinema was just going in, and the queues were tailing down the road to the corner, and everybody took full stock of her. No, Harry! shouted the fellows in an interested voice.

However, they arrived at her aunt's, a little sweet shop in a side street. They pinged the doorbell, and her aunt came running forward out of the kitchen. There you are, child, dying for a cup of tea, sure how are you fanny's aunt kissed her and it was all fanny could do to refrain from bursting into tears she felt so low perhaps it was her tea she wanted you've had a drag with that luggage said fanny's aunt to harry i am not sorry to be it down he said looking at his hand which was crushed and cramped by the bag handle then he departed to see about the leather's green ghostry cart when fanny sat at tea her aunt a grey-haired fair-faced little woman looked at her with an admiring heart feeling bitterly sore for her her fanny was beautiful tall erect finely coloured with her delicately arched nose her rich brown hair her large lustrous grey eyes a passionate woman a woman to be afraid of so proud so inwardly violent, she came of a violent race. It needed a woman to sympathise with her. Men had not the courage. Poor Fanny, she was such a lady and so straight and magnificent,

and yet everything seemed to do her down. Every time she seemed to be doomed to humiliation and disappointment, this handsome, brilliantly sensitive woman with her nervous, overwrought life. laugh. "'So you've really come back, child?' said her aunt. "'I really have aunt,' said Fanny. "'Poor, Harry. I'm not sure you know, Fanny, that you're not taking a bit of an advantage of him.' "'Oh, aunt, he's waited so long, he may as well have what he's waited for.' Fanny laughed grimly. "'Yes, child, he's waited so long that I'm not sure it isn't a bit hard on him.

"'You know I like him.' fanny though as you know quite well i don't think he's good enough for you and i think he thinks so himself poor fellow don't you be sure of that aunt harry is common but he's not humble he wouldn't think the queen was any too good for him if had a mind to her well it's as well if he has a proper opinion of himself it depends what you call proper said fanny but he's got his good points ah he's a nice fellow and i like him I do like him, only as I tell you he's not good enough for you. I've made up my mind, Aunt, said Fanny grimly. Here, smooths the aunt. They say all things come to him who waits. More than his bargain for, eh, aunt? laughed Fanny rather bitterly. The poor aunt, his bitterness grieved her for her niece.

They were interrupted by the ping of the shot bell, and Harry's call of, right but as he did not come in at once fanny feeling solicitous for him presumably at the moment rose and went into the shop she saw a cart outside and went to the door and the moment she stood in the doorway she heard a woman's common vituperative voice crying from the darkness of the opposite side of the robe art thee ardour i'll shame thee mister i'll shame thee i don't know startled fanny stared across the darkness and saw a woman in a black bonnet going under one of the lamps up the side street harry and bill heather had dragged the trunk off the little dray and she retreated before them as they came up the shop's step with it where shall harry asked harry best take it upstairs said fanny she went up first to light the gas when hither had gone and harry was sitting down having tea and pork pie fanny asked who was that woman shouting nay i cannot tell thee to somebody has to think replied harry fanny looked at him but asked no more he was a fair-haired fellow of thirty-two with a fair moustache he was broad in his speech and looked like a foundry hand which he was but women always liked him there was something of a mother's lad about him something warm and playful and really sensitive he had his attractions even for fanny what she rebelled against so bitterly was that he had no sort of ambition he was a moulder but a

a very commonplace skill. He was 32 years old and hadn't saved 20 pounds. She would have to provide the money for the home. He didn't care. He just didn't care. He had no initiative at all. He had no vices, no obvious ones, but he was just indifferent, spending as he went and not caring. Yet he did not look happy. She remembered his face in the fire glow. something haunted, abstracted about it. As he sat there eating his pork pie, bulging his cheek out, she felt he was like a doom to her,

and she raged against the doom of him. It wasn't that he was gross. His way was common, almost on purpose, but he himself wasn't really common. For instance, his food was not particularly important to him. He was not greedy. He had a charm, too, particularly for women, with his blondness and his sensitiveness

and his way of making a woman feel that she was a higher being. But Fanny knew him, knew the peculiar obstinate limitedness of him, that would nearly send her mad. He stayed till about half-past nine. She went to the door with him. "'When you're coming up?' he said, jerking his head in the direction presumably of his own home i'll come to-morrow afternoon she said brightly between fanny and mrs goodall his mother there was naturally no love lost again she gave him an awkward little kiss and said good-night you can't wonder you know child if he doesn't seem so very keen said her aunt it's your own fault oh aunt i couldn't stand him when he was keen i can do with him a lot better as he is

the two women sat and talked far into the night they understood each other the aunt too had married as fanny was marrying a man who was no companion to her a violent man brother of fanny's father father he was dead fanny's father was dead poor aunt lizzie she cried woefully over her bright niece when she had gone to bed Fanny paid the promised visit to his people the next afternoon. Mrs. Goodall was a large woman, with smooth, parted hair, a common, obstinate woman who had spoiled her four lads and her one vixen of a married daughter. She was one of those old-fashioned powerful natures that couldn't do with looks or education or any form of showing off. She fairly hated the sound of correct English. she theeed and thoued her prospective daughter-in-law and said ain't nana's armin as a look seister fanny did not think her prospective mother-in-law looked at all arming so the speech was unnecessary

i told him othen said mrs goodall has held back all this long there's a stop eriehese he none had thee for my telling thou is no is a fool and I know it. I says to him, "'Though looks a mind, doesn't her, at thy age? Going opening till here, winter, had her scratch of the gate, after she's done gallivating round whenever she's in mind. That looks rare and soft. But it's no use of any talking.

He answered that letter of thine, and made his own bad bargain. But in spite of the old woman's anger, she was also flattered at Fanny's coming back to Harry. for mrs goodall was impressed by fanny a woman of her own match and more than this everybody knew that fanny's aunt kate had left her two hundred pounds this apart from the girl's savings so there was high tea in prince's street when harry came home black from work and a rather acrid odour of cordiality the vixen jinny darting in to say vulgar things of course of course of course jinny lived in a house whose garden end joined the paternal garden they were a clan who stuck together these goodalls it was arranged that fanny should come to tea again on the sunday and the wedding was discussed it should take place in a fortnight's time at morley chapel morley was a hamlet on the edge of the real country and in its little congregational chapel fanny and harry had first met

what a creature of habit he was he was still in the choir of morley chapel not very regular he belonged just because he had a tenor voice and enjoyed singing indeed his solos were only spoilt to local fame because when he sang he handled his aches so hopelessly and i saw e'nhopp'n't and behold a white horse this was one of harry's classics only surpassed by the fine outburst of his heaving angels heave a bright and fair it was a pity but it was inalterable he had a good voice and he sang with a certain lacerating fire but his pronunciation made it all funny and nothing could alter him so he was never heard save at cheap concerts and in the little poorer chapels the others scoffed now the month was september and sunday was harvest festival at morley chapel and harry was singing solos so that fanny was to go to afternoon service and come home to a grand spread of sunday tea with him poor fanny one of the most wonderful afternoon had been a sunday afternoon service with her cousin luther at her side harvest festival in mauley chapel harry had sung solos then ten years ago she remembered his pale blue tie and the purpleasters and the great vegetable marrows in which he was framed and her cousin luther at her side young clever come down from london where he was getting unwell learning his latin and his french and german so brilliantly however once again it was harvest festival at morley chapel and once again as ten years before a soft exquisite september day

with the last roses pink in the cottage gardens the last alias crimson the last sunflowers yellow and again the little old chapel was a bower with its famous sheaves of corn and corn-platted pillars its great bunches of grapes dangling like tassels from the pulpit corners its marrow's and potatoes and pears and apples and damsons its purple asters and yellow japanese sunflowers it's purple asters and yellow japanese sunflowers it's purple asters and yellow japanese sunflow flowers just as before the red dahlias round the pillars were dropping weak-headed among the oats the place was crowded and hot the plates of tomatoes seemed balanced perilously on the gallery front the reverend enderby was weirder than ever to look at so long and emaciated and hairless the reverend enderby probably forewarned came and shook hands with her and welcomed her in his broad northern melancholy sing-song before he mounted the pulpit fanny was handsome in a gauzy dress and a beautiful lace hat being a little late she sat in a chair in the side aisle wedged in right in front of the chapel harry was in the gallery above and she could only see him from the eyes upwards she noticed again how his eyebrows hours met blonde and not very marked over his nose he was attractive too physically lovable very if only if only her pride had not suffered she felt he dragged her down come ye thankful people come raise the song of harvest home all is safely gathered in ere the winter storms begin even the hymn was of falsehood the as the season had been wet and half the crops were still out and in a poor way poor fanny she sang little and looked beautiful through that inappropriate hymn

above her stood harry mercifully in a dark suit and dark tie looking almost handsome and his lacerating pure tenor sounded well when the words were drowned in the general commotion brilliant she looked and brilliant she felt for she was hot and angrily miserable and inflamed with a sort of fatal despair because there was about him a physical attraction which she really hated but which she could not escape from he was the first man who had ever kissed her and his kisses even while she rebelled from them had lived in her blood and sent roots down into her soul after all this time she had come back to them and her soul groaned for she felt dragged down dragged down to earth as a bird which some dog had got down in the dust she knew her life would be unhappy she knew that she knew that she would be unhappy she knew that what she was doing was fatal, yet it was her doom. She had to come back to him. He had to sing two solos this afternoon, one before the address from the pulpit and one after. Fanny looked at him and wondered he was not too shy to stand up there in front of all the people, but no, he was not shy. He had even a kind of assurance on his face as he looked down from the choir gallery at her,

the assurance of a common man deliberately entrenched in his commonness. Oh, such a rage went through her veins as she saw the air of triumph, laconic, indifferent triumph, which sat so obstinately and recklessly on his eyelids as he looked down at her. Ah, she despised him. but there he stood up in that choir gallery like balaam's ass in front of her and she could not get beyond him a certain winsomeness also about him a certain physical winsomeness and as if his flesh were new and lovely to touch the thorn of desire rankled bitterly in her heart he it goes without saying sang like a canary this particular afternoon with a certain defiant passion which pleasantly crisp the blood of the congregation fanny felt the crisp flames grow through her veins as she listened even the curious loud-mouthed vernacular had a certain fascination but oh also it was so repugnant he would triumph over her obstinately he would drag her right back into the common people a doom a vulgar doom the second performance was an anthem in which harry sang the solo parts it was clumsy but beautiful with lovely words they that so in tears shall reap in joy he that goeth forth and weepeth beareth

bearing precious seed shall doubtless come again with rejoicing bringing his sheaves with him shall doubtless come shall doubtless come softly interned the altos bringing his sheaves with him the trebles flourish brightly and then again began the half wistful solo they that so in tears shall reap in joy yes it was a fift and moving but at the moment when harry's voice sank carelessly down to his close and the choir standing behind him were opening their mouths for the final triumphant outburst a shouting female voice rose up from the body of the congregation the organ gave one startled trump and went silent the choir stood transfixed you look well standing there singing in good Holy House came the loud angry female shout everybody turned electrified a stoutish red-faced woman in a black bonnet was standing up denouncing the soloist almost fainting with shock the congregation realized it you look well don't you standing there singing solos in God's Holy House you good all but I said I'd shame

you you look well bringing your young woman here with you don't you i'll let her know who she's dealing with a scam as won't take the consequences of what he's done the hard-faced frinzied woman turned in the direction of fanny that's what harry good all is if you want to know and she sat down again in her seat fanny startled like all the rest had turned to look she had gone white and then a burning red under the attack she knew the woman and mrs nixon a devil of a woman who beat her pathetic drunken red-nosed second husband bob and her two lanky daughters grown up as they were a notorious character fanny turned round again and sat motionless as eternity in her seat there was a minute of perfect silence and suspense the audience was open-mouthed and dumb the choir stood like lot's wife and harry with his music-sheet stood there uplifted looking down with a dumb sort of indifference on mrs nixon his face naive and faintly mocking mrs nixon sat defiant in her seat braving them all then a rustle like a wood when the wind suddenly catches the leaves and then the tall weird minister got to his feet and in his strong bell-like beautiful voice the only beautiful thing about him he said with infinite mournful pathos let us unite in singing the last hymn on the hymn-sheet the last hymn on the hymn-sheet number eleven fair wave the golden corn

in canaan's pleasant land the organ tuned up promptly during the hymn the offertry was taken and after the hymn the prayer mr enderby came from northumberland like harry he had never been able to conquer his accent which was very broad he was little simple one of god's fools perhaps an odd bachelor's soul emotional ugly but very gentle And if, O dear Lord, beloved Jesus, there should fall a shadow of sin upon our harvest, we leave it to thee to judge, for thou art judge. We lift our spirits and our sorrow, Jesus, to thee, and our mouths are dumb. O Lord, keep us from forward speech, restrain us from foolish words and thoughts. We pray thee, Lord Jesus, who knowest all and judges all. Thus the minister said in his sad, resonant voice,

washed his hands before the Lord. Fanny bent forward, open-eyed, during the prayer. She could see the roundish head of Harry, also bent forward. His face was inscrutable and expressionless. The shock left her bewildered. Anger, perhaps, was her dominating emotion. the audience began to rustle to its feet to ooze slowly and excitedly out of the chapel looking with wildly interested eyes at fanny at mrs nixon and at harry mrs nixon shortish stood defiant in her pew facing the aisle as if announcing that without rolling her sleeves up she was ready for anybody fanny sat quite still

luckily the people did not have to pass her and harry with red ears was making his way sheepishly out of the gallery the loud noise of the organ covered all the downstairs commotion of exit the minister sat silent and inscrutable in his pulpit rather like a death's head while the congregation filed out when the last lingers had unwillingly departed craning there next to stare at the still-seated fanny he rose stalked in his hooked fashion down the little country chapel and fastened the door then he returned and sat down by the silent young woman this is most unfortunate most unfortunate he moaned i am so sorry i am so sorry indeed indeed ah indeed he sighed himself to a close it's a sudden surprise that's one thing said fanny brightly yes yes indeed yes a surprise yes i don't know the woman i don't know her i know her said fanny she's a bad one well well said the minister i don't know her i don't understand i don't understand at all but it is to be regretted it's very much to be regretted i'm very sorry fanny was watching the vestry door the gallery stairs communicated with the vestry not with the body of the chapel she knew the choir members had been peeping for information. At last Harry came, rather sheepishly, with his hat in his hand.

Well, said Fanny, rising to her feet. We've had a bit of an extra, said Harry. I should think so, said Fanny. A most unfortunate circumstance. A most unfortunate circumstance. Do you understand it, Harry? I don't understand it at all. Oh, I understand. Oh, I understand. the daughter's going to have a child and an heir lays it on to me and has she no occasion to asked fanny rather censorious it's no more mine there is some other chaps said harry looking aside there was a moment of pause which girl is it asked fanny annie the young one there followed another silence i don't think i know them do i asked the minister i shouldn't think so their name's nixon mother's married old bob for the second husband she's a tanger it's turn the girl to what she is they live in manners road why what's a miss with the girl asked fanny sharply she was all right when i knew her ah she's all right but she's always in and out of the pubs with the fellows said harry a nice thing said fanny harry glanced towards the door he wanted to get out most distressing indeed the minister slowly shook his head

what about to-night mr enderby asked harry in rather a small voice shall you want me mr enderby looked up painedly and put his hand to his brow He studied Harry for some time vacantly. There was the faintest sort of a resemblance between the two men. Yes, he said, yes, I think, I think it must take no notice and cause as little remark as possible. Fanny hesitated. Then she said to Harry, but will you come? He looked at her. Oh, I, I shall come, he said.

then he turned to Mr. Enderby. Oh, good afternoon, Mr. Enderby, he said. Good afternoon, Harry, good afternoon, replied the mournful minister. Fanny followed Harry to the door, and for some time they walked in silence through the late afternoon. And it's yours as much as anybody else's, she said. Aye, he answered shortly. and they went without another word for the long mile or so till they came to the corner of the street where harry lived fanny hesitated should she go on to her aunts should she it would mean leaving all this forever harry stood silent some obstinacy made her turn with him along the road to his own home when they entered the house house-place, the whole family was there, mother and father and Ginny, with Ginny's

husband and children, and Harry's two brothers. "'You've been having your ears warm, they tell me,' said Mrs. Goodall, grimly. "'Who told thee?' asked Harry shortly. "'Maggy and Luke's both been in.' "'You look well, don't you?' said interfering Ginny. Harry went and hung his hat up without replying "'Come upstairs and take your hat off,' said Mrs. Goodall to Fanny, almost kindly. It would have annoyed her very much if Fanny had dropped her son at this moment.

"'What are I to say, then?' asked the father secretly of Harry, jerking his head in the direction of the stairs whence Fanny had disappeared. "'No, yeah,' said Harry. "'Sir, have you right if she chucks you now?' said Ginny. "'I bet it's right about Annie Nixon and you.' "'No, I bet so much,' said Harry. "'Yeah, but you can't deny it,' said Ginny. "'I can, if I mind.'

His father looked at him inquiringly. "'Sone more mine than is Bill Bars or Ted Slainys, or six or seven of them,' said Harry to his father. And the father nodded silently. That'll not get you out of it in court, said Ginny. Upstairs Fanny evaded all the thrusts made by his mother and did not declare her hand. She tidied her hair, washed her hands, and put the tiniest bit of powder on her face for coolness, there in front of Mrs. Goodall's indignant gaze. It was like a declaration of independence but the old woman said nothing they came down to sunday tea with sardines and tin salmon and tin peaches besides tarts and cakes the chatter was general it concerned the nixon family and the scandal

oh she's a foul-mouthed woman said jenny of mrs nixon she may well talk about god's holy house she had it's first time she set foot in it ever since she'd dropped off from being converted. She's a devil, and she always was one. Can't you remember how she treated Bob's children, mother, when we lived down in the buildings? I can remember when I was a little girl, she used to bathe them in the yard, in the cold, so that they shouldn't splash the house.

She'd half kill them if they made a mark on the floor, and the language she'd use. And once Saturday, I can remember Gary, that was Bob's own goal. she ran off when her stepmother was going to bathe her, ran off without a rag of clothes on. Can you remember, Mother? And she hid in Smedley's clothes. It was the time of mowing grass and nobody could find her.

She hid out there all night. Didn't she, Mother? Nobody could find her. My word, there was a talk. They found her on Sunday morning. Fred Coot threatened her break every bone in the woman's body If she touched the children again Put in the father

Anyhow they frightened her Said Ginny But she was nearly as bad with her own two And anybody can see that she's driven old bob till he's gone soft Aye Soft as mush Said Jack Goodall He never had a week's wage

Nor yet a daze if the chap didn't make it up to him My word if he didn't bring her a week's wage, she'd pull his head off, said Ginny. But a clean woman and respectable, except for her a foul mouth, said Mrs. Goodall, keeps to herself like a bulldog,

never lets anybody come near the house and neighbours with nobody. One it thrush out of her, said Mr Goodall, a silent, evasive sort of man. Where Bob gets the money for his drink from? I'm in a mystery, said Ginny.

Chirps treated him, said Harry. Well, he's got the pair of frightenest, rabid eyes you'd wish to see, said Ginny. Aye, with a drunken man's murdering them, I think, said Mrs. Goodall. So the talk went on after tea, it was practically time to start off to chapel again.

You'll have to be getting ready, Fanny, said Mrs. Goodall. i'm not going to-night said fanny abruptly and there was a sudden halt in the family i'll stop with you to-night mother she added best you had my girl said mrs goodall flattered and assured end of section seventeen end of england my england by d h lawrence