Lady Chatterley's Lover [antikvár]

OURS IS ESSENTIALLY A TRAGIC AGE, SOwe refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has hap-pened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up newlittle habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hardwork: there is now no smooth road into the future: butwe go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We've gotto live, no matter how many skies have fallen.This was more or less Constance Chatterley's position.The war had brought the roof down over her head. Andshe had realized that one must live and learn.She married Clifford Chatterley in 1917, when he washome for a month on leave. They had a month's honey-moon. Then he went back to Flanders: to be shipped overto England again six months later, more or less in bits.Constance, his wife, was then twenty-three years old,and he was twenty-nine.His hold on life was marvellous. He didn't die, and thebits seemed to grow together again. For two years heremained in the doctor's hands. Then he was pronounceda cure, and could return to life again, with the lower halfof his body, from the hips down, paralysed for ever.This was in 1920. They returned, Clifford and Con-stance, to his home, Wragby Hall, the family 'seat'. Hisfather had died, Clifford was now a baronet, Sir Clifford,and Constance was Lady Chatterley. They came to starthousekeeping and married life in the rather forlorn homeof the Chatterleys on a rather inadequate income. Clif-