`Yes，LadyChatterley’snotlookingatallwell!Why，sheusedtobethatbonny，didn’tshenow？Butshe’sbeenfailingallwinter!Oh，it’shard，itis。PoorSirClifford!Eh，thatwar，it’salottoanswerfor。’
AndMrsBoltonwouldcometoWragbyatonce，ifDrShardlowwouldletheroff。Shehadanotherfortnight’sparishnursingtodo，byrights，buttheymightgetasubstitute，youknow。
HildapostedofftoDrShardlow，andonthefollowingSundayMrsBoltondroveupinLeiver’scabtoWragbywithtwotrunks。Hildahadtalkswithher；MrsBoltonwasreadyatanymomenttotalk。Andsheseemedsoyoung!
Thewaythepassionwouldflushinherratherpalecheek。Shewasforty-seven。
Herhusband，TedBolton，hadbeenkilledinthepit，twenty-twoyearsago，twenty-twoyearslastChristmas，justatChristmastime，leavingherwithtwochildren，oneababyinarms。Oh，thebabywasmarriednow，Edith，toayoungmaninBootsCashChemistsinSheffield。TheotheronewasaschoolteacherinChesterfield；shecamehomeweekends，whenshewasn’taskedoutsomewhere。Youngfolksenjoyedthemselvesnowadays，notlikewhenshe，IvyBolton，wasyoung。