`Yes，LadyChatterley’snotlookingatallwell!Why，sheusedtobethatbonny，didn’tshenow？Butshe’sbeenfailingallwinter!Oh，it’shard，itis。PoorSirClifford!Eh，thatwar，it’salottoanswerfor。’
AndMrsBoltonwouldcometoWragbyatonce，ifDrShardlowwouldletheroff。Shehadanotherfortnight’sparishnursingtodo，byrights，buttheymightgetasubstitute，youknow。
HildapostedofftoDrShardlow，andonthefollowingSundayMrsBoltondroveupinLeiver’scabtoWragbywithtwotrunks。Hildahadtalkswithher；MrsBoltonwasreadyatanymomenttotalk。Andsheseemedsoyoung!
Thewaythepassionwouldflushinherratherpalecheek。Shewasforty-seven。
Herhusband，TedBolton，hadbeenkilledinthepit，twenty-twoyearsago，twenty-twoyearslastChristmas，justatChristmastime，leavingherwithtwochildren，oneababyinarms。Oh，thebabywasmarriednow，Edith，toayoungmaninBootsCashChemistsinSheffield。TheotheronewasaschoolteacherinChesterfield；shecamehomeweekends，whenshewasn’taskedoutsomewhere。Youngfolksenjoyedthemselvesnowadays，notlikewhenshe，IvyBolton，wasyoung。
TedBoltonwastwenty-eightwhenliewaskilledinanexplosiondownth’pit。Thebuttyinfrontshoutedtothemalltoliedownquick，therewerefourofthem。Andtheyalllaydownintime，onlyTed，anditkilledhim。Thenattheinquiry，onthemasters’sidetheysaidTedhadbeenfrightened，andtryingtorunaway，andnotobeyingorders，soitwaslikehisfaultreally。Sothecompensationwasonlythreehundredpounds，andtheymadeoutasifitwasmoreofagiftthanlegalcompensation，becauseitwasreallytheman’sownfault。Andtheywouldn’tletherhavethemoneydown；
shewantedtohavealittleshop。Buttheysaidshe’dnodoubtsquanderit，perhapsindrink!Soshehadtodrawitthirtyshillingsaweek。Yes，shehadtogoeveryMondaymorningdowntotheoffices，andstandthereacoupleofhourswaitingherturn；yes，foralmostfouryearsshewenteveryMonday。Andwhatcouldshedowithtwolittlechildrenonherhands？
ButTed’smotherwasverygoodtoher。Whenthebabycouldtoddleshe’dkeepboththechildrenfortheday，whileshe，IvyBolton，wenttoSheffield，andattendedclassesinambulance，andthenthefourthyearsheeventookanursingcourseandgotqualified。Shewasdeterminedtobeindependentandkeepherchildren。SoshewasassistantatUthwaitehospital，justalittleplace，forawhile。ButwhentheCompany，theTevershallCollieryCompany，reallySirGeoffrey，sawthatshecouldgetonbyherself，theywereverygoodtoher，gavehertheparishnursing，andstoodbyher，shewouldsaythatforthem。Andshe’ddoneiteversince，tillnowitwasgettingabitmuchforher；sheneededsomethingabitlighter，therewassuchalotoftraipsingaroundifyouwereadistrictnurse。
`Yes，theCompany’sbeenverygoodtome，Ialwayssayit。ButIshouldneverforgetwhattheysaidaboutTed，forhewasassteadyandfearlessachapaseversetfootonthecage，anditwasasgoodasbrandinghimacoward。Butthere，hewasdead，andcouldsaynothingtononeof’em。’
Itwasaqueermixtureoffeelingsthewomanshowedasshetalked。Shelikedthecolliers，whomshehadnursedforsolong；butshefeltverysuperiortothem。Shefeltalmostupperclass；andatthesametimearesentmentagainsttherulingclasssmoulderedinher。Themasters!Inadisputebetweenmastersandmen，shewasalwaysforthemen。Butwhentherewasnoquestionofcontest，shewaspiningtobesuperior，tobeoneoftheupperclass。
Theupperclassesfascinatedher，appealingtoherpeculiarEnglishpassionforsuperiority。ShewasthrilledtocometoWragby；thrilledtotalktoLadyChatterley，myword，differentfromthecommoncolliers’wives!Shesaidsoinsomanywords。YetonecouldseeagrudgeagainsttheChatterleyspeepoutinher；thegrudgeagainstthemasters。
`Why，yes，ofcourse，itwouldwearLadyChatterleyout!It’samercyshehadasistertocomeandhelpher。Mendon’tthink，highandlow-alike，theytakewhatawomandoesforthemforgranted。Oh，I’vetoldthecolliersoffaboutitmanyatime。Butit’sveryhardforSirClifford，youknow，crippledlikethat。Theywerealwaysahaughtyfamily，standoffishinaway，asthey’vearighttobe。Butthentobebroughtdownlikethat!Andit’sveryhardonLadyChatterley，perhapsharderonher。Whatshemisses!
IonlyhadTedthreeyears，butmyword，whileIhadhimIhadahusbandIcouldneverforget。Hewasoneinathousand，andjollyastheday。Who’deverhavethoughthe’dgetkilled？Idon’tbelieveittothisdaysomehow，I’veneverbelievedit，thoughIwashedhimwithmyownhands。Buthewasneverdeadforme，heneverwas。Inevertookitin。’
ThiswasanewvoiceinWragby，verynewforConnietohear；itrousedanewearinher。
Forthefirstweekorso，MrsBolton，however，wasveryquietatWragby，herassured，bossymannerlefther，andshewasnervous。WithCliffordshewasshy，almostfrightened，andsilent。Helikedthat，andsoonrecoveredhisself-possession，lettingherdothingsforhimwithoutevennoticingher。
`She’sausefulnonentity!’hesaid。Connieopenedhereyesinwonder，butshedidnotcontradicthim。Sodifferentareimpressionsontwodifferentpeople!
Andhesoonbecamerathersuperb，somewhatlordlywiththenurse。Shehadratherexpectedit，andheplayedupwithoutknowing。Sosusceptiblewearetowhatisexpectedofus!Thecolliershadbeensolikechildren，talkingtoher，andtellingherwhathurtthem，whileshebandagedthem，ornursedthem。Theyhadalwaysmadeherfeelsogrand，almostsuper-humaninheradministrations。NowCliffordmadeherfeelsmall，andlikeaservant，andsheaccepteditwithoutaword，adjustingherselftotheupperclasses。
Shecameverymute，withherlong，handsomeface，anddowncasteyes，toadministertohim。Andshesaidveryhumbly：`ShallIdothisnow，SirClifford？ShallIdothat？’
`No，leaveitforatime。I’llhaveitdonelater。’
`Verywell，SirClifford。’
`Comeinagaininhalfanhour。’
`Verywell，SirClifford。’
`Andjusttakethoseoldpapersout，willyou？’
`Verywell，SirClifford。’
Shewentsoftly，andinhalfanhourshecamesoftlyagain。Shewasbullied，butshedidn’tmind。Shewasexperiencingtheupperclasses。SheneitherresentednordislikedClifford；hewasjustpartofaphenomenon，thephenomenonofthehigh-classfolks，sofarunknowntoher，butnowtobeknown。ShefeltmoreathomewithLadyChatterley，andafterallit’sthemistressofthehousemattersmost。
MrsBoltonhelpedCliffordtobedatnight，andsleptacrossthepassagefromhisroom，andcameifherangforherinthenight。Shealsohelpedhiminthemorning，andsoonvaletedhimcompletely，evenshavinghim，inhersoft，tentativewoman’sway。Shewasverygoodandcompetent，andshesoonknewhowtohavehiminherpower。Hewasn’tsoverydifferentfromthecolliersafterall，whenyoulatheredhischin，andsoftlyrubbedthebristles。Thestand-offishnessandthelackoffranknessdidn’tbotherher；shewashavinganewexperience。
Clifford，however，insidehimself，neverquiteforgaveConnieforgivingupherpersonalcareofhimtoastrangehiredwoman。Itkilled，hesaidtohimself，therealfloweroftheintimacybetweenhimandher。ButConniedidn’tmindthat。Thefinefloweroftheirintimacywastoherratherlikeanorchid，abulbstuckparasiticonhertreeoflife，andproducing，tohereyes，arathershabbyflower。
Nowshehadmoretimetoherselfshecouldsoftlyplaythepiano，upinherroom，andsing：`Touchnotthenettle，forthebondsofloveareilltoloose。’Shehadnotrealizedtilllatelyhowilltoloosetheywere，thesebondsoflove。ButthankHeavenshehadloosenedthem!Shewassogladtobealone，notalwaystohavetotalktohim。Whenhewasalonehetapped-tapped-tappedonatypewriter，toinfinity。Butwhenhewasnot`working’，andshewasthere，hetalked，alwaystalked；infinitesmallanalysisofpeopleandmotives，andresults，charactersandpersonalities，tillnowshehadhadenough。Foryearsshehadlovedit，untilshehadenough，andthensuddenlyitwastoomuch。Shewasthankfultobealone。
Itwasasifthousandsandthousandsoflittlerootsandthreadsofconsciousnessinhimandherhadgrowntogetherintoatangledmass，tilltheycouldcrowdnomore，andtheplantwasdying。Nowquietly，subtly，shewasunravellingthetangleofhisconsciousnessandhers，breakingthethreadsgently，onebyone，withpatienceandimpatiencetogetclear。
Butthebondsofsuchlovearemoreilltolooseeventhanmostbonds；
thoughMrsBolton’scominghadbeenagreathelp。
ButhestillwantedtheoldintimateeveningsoftalkwithConnie：talkorreadingaloud。ButnowshecouldarrangethatMrsBoltonshouldcomeattentodisturbthem。Atteno’clockConniecouldgoupstairsandbealone。CliffordwasingoodhandswithMrsBolton。
MrsBoltonatewithMrsBettsinthehousekeeper’sroom，sincetheywereallagreeable。Anditwascurioushowmuchclosertheservants’quartersseemedtohavecome；rightuptothedoorsofClifford’sstudy，whenbeforetheyweresoremote。ForMrsBettswouldsometimessitinMrsBolton’sroom，andConnieheardtheirloweredvoices，andfeltsomehowthestrong，othervibrationoftheworkingpeoplealmostinvadingthesitting-room，whensheandCliffordwerealone。SochangedwasWragbymerelybyMrsBolton’scoming。
AndConniefeltherselfreleased，inanotherworld，shefeltshebreatheddifferently。Butstillshewasafraidofhowmanyofherroots，perhapsmortalones，weretangledwithClifford’s。Yetstill，shebreathedfreer，anewphasewasgoingtobegininherlife。
Chapter8
MrsBoltonalsokeptacherishingeyeonConnie，feelingshemustextendtoherherfemaleandprofessionalprotection。Shewasalwaysurgingherladyshiptowalkout，todrivetoUthwaite，tobeintheair。ForConniehadgotintothehabitofsittingstillbythefire，pretendingtoread；
ortosewfeebly，andhardlygoingoutatall。
ItwasablowydaysoonafterHildahadgone，thatMrsBoltonsaid：
`Nowwhydon’tyougoforawalkthroughthewood，andlookatthedaffsbehindthekeeper’scottage？They’retheprettiestsightyou’dseeinaday’smarch。Andyoucouldputsomeinyourroom；wilddaffsarealwayssocheerful-looking，aren’tthey？’
Connietookitingoodpart，evendaffsfordaffodils。Wilddaffodils!
Afterall，onecouldnotstewinone’sownjuice。Thespringcameback……`Seasonsreturn，butnottomereturnsDay，orthesweetapproachofEv’norMorn。’
Andthekeeper，histhin，whitebody，likealonelypistilofaninvisibleflower!Shehadforgottenhiminherunspeakabledepression。Butnowsomethingroused……`Palebeyondporchandportal’……thethingtodowastopasstheporchesandtheportals。
Shewasstronger，shecouldwalkbetter，andiiithewoodthewindwouldnotbesotiringasitwasacrossthebark，flattenagainsther。Shewantedtoforget，toforgettheworld，andallthedreadful，carrion-bodiedpeople。
`Yemustbebornagain!Ibelieveintheresurrectionofthebody!Exceptagrainofwheatfallintotheearthanddie，itshallbynomeansbringforth。WhenthecrocuscomethforthItoowillemergeandseethesun!’
InthewindofMarchendlessphrasessweptthroughherconsciousness。
Littlegustsofsunshineblew，strangelybright，andlitupthecelandinesatthewood’sedge，underthehazel-rods，theyspangledoutbrightandyellow。Andthewoodwasstill，stiller，butyetgustywithcrossingsun。
Thefirstwindflowerswereout，andallthewoodseemedpalewiththepallorofendlesslittleanemones，sprinklingtheshakenfloor。`Theworldhasgrownpalewiththybreath。’ButitwasthebreathofPersephone，thistime；shewasoutofhellonacoldmorning。Coldbreathsofwindcame，andoverheadtherewasanangerofentangledwindcaughtamongthetwigs。
It，too，wascaughtandtryingtotearitselffree，thewind，likeAbsalom。
Howcoldtheanemoneslooked，bobbingtheirnakedwhiteshouldersovercrinolineskirtsofgreen。Buttheystoodit。Afewfirstbleachedlittleprimrosestoo，bythepath，andyellowbudsunfoldingthemselves。
Theroaringandswayingwasoverhead，onlycoldcurrentscamedownbelow。
Conniewasstrangelyexcitedinthewood，andthecolourflewinhercheeks，andburnedblueinhereyes。Shewalkedploddingly，pickingafewprimrosesandthefirstviolets，thatsmelledsweetandcold，sweetandcold。Andshedriftedonwithoutknowingwhereshewas。
Tillshecametotheclearing，attheendofthewood，andsawthegreen-stainedstonecottage，lookingalmostrosy，likethefleshunderneathamushroom，itsstonewarmedinaburstofsun。Andtherewasasparkleofyellowjasminebythedoor；thecloseddoor。Butnosound；nosmokefromthechimney；
nodogbarking。
Shewentquietlyroundtotheback，wherethebankroseup；shehadanexcuse，toseethedaffodils。
Andtheywerethere，theshort-stemmedflowers，rustlingandflutteringandshivering，sobrightandalive，butwithnowheretohidetheirfaces，astheyturnedthemawayfromthewind。
Theyshooktheirbright，sunnylittleragsinboutsofdistress。Butperhapstheylikeditreally；perhapstheyreallylikedthetossing。
Constancesatdownwithherbacktoayoungpine-tree，thatwayedagainstherwithcuriouslife，elastic，andpowerful，risingup。Theerect，alivething，withitstopinthesun!Andshewatchedthedaffodilsturngolden，inaburstofsunthatwaswarmonherhandsandlap。Evenshecaughtthefaint，tarryscentoftheflowers。Andthen，beingsostillandalone，sheseemedtobetintothecurrentofherownproperdestiny。Shehadbeenfastenedbyarope，andjaggingandsnarringlikeaboatatitsmoorings；
nowshewaslooseandadrift。
Thesunshinegavewaytochill；thedaffodilswereinshadow，dippingsilently。Sotheywoulddipthroughthedayandthelongcoldnight。Sostrongintheirfrailty!
Sherose，alittlestiff，tookafewdaffodils，andwentdown。Shehatedbreakingtheflowers，butshewantedjustoneortwotogowithher。ShewouldhavetogobacktoWragbyanditswalls，andnowshehatedit，especiallyitsthickwalls。Walls!Alwayswalls!Yetoneneededtheminthiswind。
WhenshegothomeCliffordaskedher：
`Wheredidyougo？’
`Rightacrossthewood!Look，aren’tthelittledaffodilsadorable？
Tothinktheyshouldcomeoutoftheearth!’
`Justasmuchoutofairandsunshine，’hesaid。
`Butmodelledintheearth，’sheretorted，withapromptcontradiction，thatsurprisedheralittle。
Thenextafternoonshewenttothewoodagain。ShefollowedthebroadridingthatswervedroundandupthroughthelarchestoaspringcalledJohn’sWell。Itwascoldonthishillside，andnotaflowerinthedarknessoflarches。Buttheicylittlespringsoftlypressedupwardsfromitstinywell-bedofpure，reddish-whitepebbles。Howicyandclearitwas!Brilliant!