Lady Chatterley’s Lover [FREE PDF DOWNLOAD]

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Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically.
The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to
build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather
hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go
round, or scramble over the obstacles. We’ve got to 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. And she had realized
that one must live and learn.

She married Clifford Chatterley in 1917 when he was home for
a month on leave. They had a month’s honeymoon. Then he went
back to Flanders: to be shipped over to 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 the bits
seemed to grow together again. For two years he remained in the
doctor’s hands. Then he has pronounced a cure and could return
to life again, with the lower half of his body, from the hips down,
paralysed forever.

This was in 1920. They returned, Clifford and Constance, to his
home, Wragby Hall, the family ’seat’. His father had died, Clifford
was now a baronet, Sir Clifford, and Constance was Lady Chatterley.
They came to start housekeeping and married life in the
rather forlorn home of the Chatterleys on a rather inadequate income.
Clifford had a sister, but she had departed. Otherwise there

were no near relatives. The elder brother was dead in the war. Crippled
forever, knowing he could never have any children, Clifford
came home to the smoky Midlands to keep the Chatterley name
alive while he could.

He was not really downcast. He could wheel himself about in a
wheeled chair, and he had a bath-chair with a small motor attachment,
so he could drive himself slowly round the garden and into
the fine melancholy park, of which he was really so proud, though
he pretended to be flippant about it.

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