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In this activity, men were beyond any mental redhead geek naked hot age calculable.

But Clifford knew that when it did redhead geek naked hot come to the emotional and human life, these self-made men were of a mental age of about thirteen, feeble boys.

Let man slide down to general idiocy in the emotional and "human" mind, Clifford did not care. He was interested in the technicalities of modern coal-mining, and in pulling Tevershall out of the hole. He went down to the pit day after day, he studied, he put the general manager, and the overhead manager, and the underground manager, and the engineers through a mill they had never dreamed of. He felt a new sense of power flowing through him: power over all these men, over the hundreds and hundreds of colliers. He was finding out: and he was getting things into his grip. He had been gradually dying, with Connie, in the isolated private life of the artist and the conscious being. He simply felt life rush into him out of the coal, out of the pit.

The very stale air of the colliery was better than oxygen to him. He was doing something: and he was _going_ to do something. He was going to win, to win: not as he had won with his stories, mere publicity, amid a whole sapping of energy and malice. At first he thought the solution lay in electricity: convert the coal into electric power. The Germans invented a new locomotive engine with a self-feeder, that did not need a fireman. And it was to be fed with a new fuel, that burnt in small quantities at a great heat, under peculiar conditions. The idea of a new concentrated fuel that burnt with a hard slowness at a fierce heat was what first attracted Clifford. There must be some sort of external stimulus to the burning of such fuel, not merely air supply. He began to redhead geek naked hot experiment, and got a clever young fellow who had proved redhead geek naked hot brilliant in chemistry, to help him.

He had fulfilled his life-long secret yearning to get out of himself.

But for all that, it was evident that when he was with her his voice dropped to an easy rhythm of intimacy, almost a trifle vulgar. He felt he owed her everything, everything, and he showed her redhead geek naked hot the utmost respect and consideration, so long as she gave him mere outward respect. The new Achilles in him had a heel, and in this heel the woman, the woman like Connie his wife, could lame him fatally. He went in a certain half-subservient dread of her, and was extremely nice to her. But his voice was a little tense when he spoke to her, and he began to be silent whenever she was present. Bolton did he really feel a lord and a master, and his voice ran on with her almost as easily and garrulously as her own could run. And he let her shave him and sponge all his body as if he were a child, really as if he were a child. CHAPTER X Connie was a good deal alone now, fewer people came to Wragby. He preferred the radio, which he had installed at some expense, with a good deal of success at last. He could sometimes get Madrid or Frankfurt, even there in the uneasy Midlands.

And he would sit alone for hours listening to the loud-speaker bellowing forth.

But there he would sit, with a blank entranced expression on his face, like a person losing his mind, and listen, or seem to listen, to the unspeakable thing. Or was it a sort of soporific he took, whilst something else worked on underneath in him? She fled up to her room, or out of doors to the wood. A kind of terror filled her sometimes, a terror of the incipient insanity of the whole civilised species.

But now that Clifford was drifting off to this other weirdness of industrial activity, becoming almost a _creature_, with a hard, efficient shell of an exterior and a pulpy interior, one of the amazing crabs and lobsters of the modern, industrial and financial world, invertebrates of the crustacean order, with shells of steel, like machines, and inner bodies of soft pulp, Connie herself was really completely stranded. She was not even free, for Clifford must have her there. He seemed to have a nervous terror that she should leave him.

The curious pulpy part of him, the emotional and humanly-individual part, depended on her with terror, like a child, almost like an idiot. She must be there, there at Wragby, a Lady Chatterley, his wife. Otherwise he would be lost like an idiot on a moor. This amazing dependence Connie realised with a sort of horror. She heard him with his pit managers, with the members of his Board, with young scientists, and she was amazed at his shrewd insight into things, his power, his uncanny material power over what is called practical men.

He had become a practical man himself, and an amazingly astute and powerful one, a master.

Bolton's influence upon him, just at the crisis in his life.

But this astute and practical man was almost an idiot when left alone to his own emotional life. He worshipped Connie, she was his wife, a higher being, and he worshipped her with a queer, craven idolatry, like a savage, a worship based on enormous fear, and even redhead geek naked hot hate of the power of the idol, the dread idol.