автордың кітабынан сөз тіркестері  England My England

David Herbert Lawrence

made the grit worse between his teeth. And the children running around playing and calling in the rather mincing fashion of children who have nurses and governesses and literature in the family. And Joyce so lame! It had all become unreal to him, after the camp. It only set his soul on edge. He left at dawn on the Monday morning, glad to get back to the realness and vulgarity of the camp.

Winifred did not really care about money. She did not care whether he earned or did not earn anything.

The years went by, and instead of coming more to grips with life, he relaxed more. He was of a subtle, sensitive, passionate nature. But he simply would not give himself to what Winifred called life, Work. No, he would not go into the world and work for money. No, he just would not.

Till she married, her first human duty had been towards her father: he was the pillar, the source of life, the everlasting support.

The responsibility of motherhood was the prime responsibility in Winifred's heart: the responsibility of wifehood came a long way second.

this sense of duty should go deeper than the love for her husband.

Her father was a man of energy, too. He had come from the north poor. Now he was moderately rich.

Winifred's father was always generous

His blood was strong even to coarseness. But that only made the home more vigorous, more robust and Christmassy.

He was a man of courage, not given to complaining, bearing his burdens by himself. No, he did not let the world intrude far into his home.