`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!