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Lawrence, D. H. (David Herbert), 1885-1930

"Sons and Lovers"


She had known. Only why, as he sat there, had he still this strange
dominance over her? His very movements fascinated her as if she were
hypnotised by him. Yet he was despicable, false, inconsistent, and mean.
Why this bondage for her? Why was it the movement of his arm stirred her
as nothing else in the world could? Why was she fastened to him? Why,
even now, if he looked at her and commanded her, would she have to obey?
She would obey him in his trifling commands. But once he was obeyed,
then she had him in her power, she knew, to lead him where she would.
She was sure of herself. Only, this new influence! Ah, he was not a man!
He was a baby that cries for the newest toy. And all the attachment
of his soul would not keep him. Very well, he would have to go. But he
would come back when he had tired of his new sensation.
He hacked at the earth till she was fretted to death. She rose. He sat
flinging lumps of earth in the stream.
"We will go and have tea here?" he asked.
"Yes," she answered.


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