"Lawrence, D. H - Lady Chatterley's Lover" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lawrence D. H)

impression of authority on her own mind or soul that she could not get
rid of. It had nothing to do with Sir Malcolm, who left his nervously
hostile, high-spirited wife to rule her own roost, while he went his
own way.

So the girls were 'free', and went back to Dresden, and their music,
and the university and the young men. They loved their respective young
men, and their respective young men loved them with all the passion of
mental attraction. All the wonderful things the young men thought and
expressed and wrote, they thought and expressed and wrote for the young
women. Connie's young man was musical, Hilda's was technical. But they
simply lived for their young women. In their minds and their mental
excitements, that is. Somewhere else they were a little rebuffed,
though they did not know it.

It was obvious in them too that love had gone through them that is,
the physical experience. It is curious what a subtle but unmistakable
transmutation it makes, both in the body of men and women the woman
more blooming, more subtly rounded, her young angularities softened,
and her expression either anxious or triumphant the man much quieter,
more inward, the very shapes of his shoulders and his buttocks less
assertive, more hesitant.

In the actual sex-thrill within the body, the sisters nearly succumbed
to the strange male power. But quickly they recovered themselves, took
the sex-thrill as a sensation, and remained free. Whereas the men, in
gratitude to the woman for the sex experience, let their souls go out
to her. And afterwards looked rather as if they had lost a shilling and
found sixpence. Connie's man could be a bit sulky, and Hilda's a bit
jeering. But that is how men are! Ungrateful and never satisfied. When
you don't have them they hate you because you won't; and when you do
have them they hate you again, for some other reason. Or for no reason
at all, except that they are discontented children, and can't be
satisfied whatever they get, let a woman do what she may.

However, came the war, Hilda and Connie were rushed home again after
having been home already in May, to their mother's funeral. Before
Christmas of 1914 both their German young men were dead whereupon the
sisters wept, and loved the young men passionately, but underneath
forgot them. They didn't exist any more.

Both sisters lived in their father's, really their mother's, Kensington
housemixed with the young Cambridge group, the group that stood for
'freedom' and flannel trousers, and flannel shirts open at the neck,
and a well-bred sort of emotional anarchy, and a whispering, murmuring
sort of voice, and an ultra-sensitive sort of manner. Hilda, however,
suddenly married a man ten years older than herself, an elder member of
the same Cambridge group, a man with a fair amount of money, and a
comfortable family job in the government he also wrote philosophical
essays. She lived with him in a smallish house in Westminster, and