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Clifford, however, putting on all his pressure, managed to steer into the riding, and with a strange noise the chair was fighting the hill. Mellors pushed steadily behind, and up she went, as if to retrieve herself.

"You see she's doing it!" said Clifford victorious, glancing over his shoulder. "Are you pushing her?" "She won't do it without." "Leave her alone. I asked you not." "She won't do it." "_Let her try!_" snarled Clifford, with all his emphasis. The keeper stood back: then turned to fetch his coat and gun. Clifford, seated a prisoner, was white with vexation. He jerked at the levers so sexy sex porr with his hand, his feet were no good. In savage impatience he moved little handles and got more noises out of her.

Constance sat on the bank and looked at the wretched and trampled bluebells. "Nothing quite so lovely as an English spring." "I can do my share of ruling." "What we need to take up now is whips, not swords." "The ruling classes!" The keeper strode up with his coat and gun, Flossie cautiously at his heels. Clifford asked the man to do something or other to the engine. Connie, who understood nothing at all of the technicalities of motors, and who had had experience of breakdowns, sat patiently on the bank as if she were a cipher. He got to his feet and said patiently: "Try her again, then." He spoke in a quiet voice, almost as if to a child. Clifford tried her, and Mellors stepped quickly behind and began to push. She was going, the engine doing about half the work, the man the rest. "Will you get off there!" The keeper dropped his hold at once, and Clifford added: "How shall I know what she is doing!" The man put his gun down and began to pull on his coat. She, Mellors, and Clifford moved at once, Connie and the keeper jostling lightly. "It's obvious I'm at everybody's mercy!" said Clifford. Mellors was slinging his gun over his shoulder, his face queer and so sexy sex porr expressionless, save for an abstracted look of patience. The dog Flossie, standing on guard almost between her master's legs, moved uneasily, eyeing the chair with great suspicion and dislike, and very much perplexed between the three human beings. The _tableau vivant_ remained set among the squashed bluebells, nobody proffering a word. "I expect she'll have to be pushed," said Clifford at last, with an affectation of _sang froid_. Mellors' abstracted face looked as if he had heard nothing. "Do you mind pushing her home, Mellors!" he said in a cool, superior tone. "I hope I have said nothing to offend you," he added, in a tone of dislike. Do you want me to push that chair?" "If you please." The man stepped up to it: but this time it was so sexy sex porr without effect. They poked and pulled, and the keeper took off his gun and his coat once more. At last the keeper heaved the back of the chair off the ground, and with an instantaneous push of his foot, tried to loosen the wheels.

"If you'll pull the wheel that way, so!" he so sexy sex porr said to her, showing her how. You'll strain yourself," she said, flushed now with anger. And she had to go and take hold of the wheel, ready. The keeper put a stone under the wheel, and went to sit on the bank, his heart beating and his face white with the effort, semi-conscious.

At last he sighed, and blew his nose on his red handkerchief. Connie calculated the amount of strength it must have taken to heave up that chair and the bulky Clifford: too much, far too much! He rose, and again picked up his coat, slinging it through the handle of the chair. "Are you ready, then, Sir Clifford?" "When you are!" He stooped and took out the scotch, then put his weight against the chair.

He was paler than Connie had ever seen him: and more absent. And she began to shove with a woman's turbulent energy of anger. If you'd let the motor work while it would--" But she did not finish. She slackened off a little, for it was surprisingly hard so sexy sex porr work. slower!" said the man at her side, with a faint smile of the eyes. "Are so sexy sex porr you sure you've not hurt yourself?" she said fiercely. She looked at his smallish, short, alive hand, browned by the weather. It seemed so still, like him, with a curious inward stillness that made her want to clutch it, as if she could not reach it.