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

"Sons and Lovers"


"Not at all bad," she answered gravely.
He felt again her interest in his work. Or was it for himself? Why was
she always most interested in him as he appeared in his work?
They sat down to supper.
"By the way," he said, "didn't I hear something about your earning your
own living?"
"Yes," she replied, bowing her dark head over her cup. "And what of it?"
"I'm merely going to the farming college at Broughton for three months,
and I shall probably be kept on as a teacher there."
"I say--that sounds all right for you! You always wanted to be
independent."
"Yes.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I only knew last week."
"But I heard a month ago," he said.
"Yes; but nothing was settled then."
"I should have thought," he said, "you'd have told me you were trying."
She ate her food in the deliberate, constrained way, almost as if she
recoiled a little from doing anything so publicly, that he knew so well.
"I suppose you're glad," he said.
"Very glad."
"Yes--it will be something.


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