Lady Chatterley's Lover HTML version

Chapter 4
Connie always had a foreboding of the hopelessness of her affair with Mick, as
people called him. Yet other men seemed to mean nothing to her. She was
attached to Clifford. He wanted a good deal of her life and she gave it to him. But
she wanted a good deal from the life of a man, and this Clifford did not give her;
could not. There were occasional spasms of Michaelis. But, as she knew by
foreboding, that would come to an end. Mick couldn't keep anything up. It was
part of his very being that he must break off any connection, and be loose,
isolated, absolutely lone dog again. It was his major necessity, even though he
always said: She turned me down!
The world is supposed to be full of possibilities, but they narrow down to pretty
few in most personal experience. There's lots of good fish in the sea. . .maybe. .
.but the vast masses seem to be mackerel or herring, and if you're not mackerel
or herring yourself you are likely to find very few good fish in the sea.
Clifford was making strides into fame, and even money. People came to see him.
Connie nearly always had somebody at Wragby. But if they weren't mackerel
they were herring, with an occasional cat-fish, or conger-eel.
There were a few regular men, constants; men who had been at Cambridge with
Clifford. There was Tommy Dukes, who had remained in the army, and was a
Brigadier-General. "The army leaves me time to think, and saves me from having
to face the battle of life," he said.
There was Charles May, an Irishman, who wrote scientifically about stars. There
was Hammond, another writer. All were about the same age as Clifford; the
young intellectuals of the day. They all believed in the life of the mind. What you
did apart from that was your private affair, and didn't much matter. No one thinks
of inquiring of another person at what hour he retires to the privy. It isn't
interesting to anyone but the person concerned.
And so with most of the matters of ordinary life. . .how you make your money, or
whether you love your wife, or if you have "affairs". All these matters concern
only the person concerned, and, like going to the privy, have no interest for
anyone else.
"The whole point about the sexual problem," said Hammond, who was a tall thin
fellow with a wife and two children, but much more closely connected with a
typewriter, "is that there is no point to it. Strictly there is no problem. We don't
want to follow a man into the W.C., so why should we want to follow him into bed
with a woman? And therein lies the problem. If we took no more notice of the one
thing than the other, there'd be no problem. It's all utterly senseless and
pointless; a matter of misplaced curiosity."
"Quite, Hammond, quite! But if someone starts making love to Julia, you begin to
simmer; and if he goes on, you are soon at boiling point.". . .Julia was
Hammond's wife.
"Why, exactly! So I should be if he began to urinate in a corner of my drawing-
room. There's a place for all these things."