《查泰萊夫人的情人(英文版)》為純英文版，是英國現代作家勞倫斯的長篇小說。作品描寫的是**次世界大戰後英國貴族克利福德的妻子康妮與守林人梅勒斯之間充滿生命**的愛情故事。作為勞倫斯*後一部長篇小說，《查泰萊夫人的情人(英文版)》包含了作者一生對性與情愛這一永恆母題的探索和總結。本書*初出版於1928年，因故事中描述查泰萊夫人和情人間的肉體關繫，引來許多評論家的非議。但*終本書證明起了其文學價值，成為經久暢銷經典。

勞倫斯編著的《查泰萊夫人的情人(英文版)》講 述了：Lady Chatterley's Lover was banned inEngland and the United States immediatelyafter its initial publication in 1928, and anunexpurgated edition could not be publishedopenly in the United Kingdom until 1960.Since then the novel has been recognisedas one of the great literary works of thetwentieth century and continues to enjoy hugepopularity. The story focuses on the affairbetween Constance, the wife of wheelchairednobleman Clifford Chatterley, and Mellors,the gamekeeper of the Chatterleys' estate.Dealing with themes of love, passion, respect,honor, and the need for understanding, LadyChatterley's Lover affirms the author's visionof individual regeneration through sexuallove.

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19

Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. Thecataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up newlittle habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is nowno smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over theobstacles. We've got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen. This was more or less Constance Chatterley's position. The war hadbrought the roof down over her head. And she had realised that one mustlive and learn. She married Clifford Chatterley in 1917, when he was home for amonth on leave. They had a month's honeymoon. Then he went back toFlanders: to be shipped over to England again six months later, more orless in bits. Constance, his wife, was then twenty-three years old, and hewas twenty-nine. His hold on life was marvellous. He didn't die, and the bits seemedto grow together again. For two years he remained in the doctor's hands.Then he was pronounced a cure, and could return to life again, with thelower half of his body, from the hips down, paralysed for ever. This was in 1920. They returned, Clifford and Constance, to hishome, Wragby Hall, the family "seat". His father had died, Clifford wasnow a baronet, Sir Clifford, and Constance was Lady Chatterley. Theycame to start housekeeping and married life in the rather forlorn homeof the Chatterleys on a rather inadequate income. Clifford had a sister,but she had departed. Otherwise there were no near relatives. The elderbrother was dead in the war. Crippled for ever, knowing he could neverhave any children, Clifford came home to the smoky Midlands to keep theChatterley name alive while he could. He was not really downcast. He could wheel himself about in awheeled chair, and he had a bath-chair with a small motor attachment,so he could drive himself slowly round the garden and into the linemelancholy park, of which he was really so proud, though he pretended tobe flippant about it. Having suffered so much, the capacity for suffering had to someextent left him. He remained strange and bright and cheerful, almost,one might say, chirpy, with his ruddy, healthy-looking face, and his pale- blue, challenging bright eyes. His shoulders were broad and strong, hishands were very strong. He was expensively dressed, and wore handsomeneckties from Bond Street. Yet still in his face one saw the watchful look,the slight vacancy of a cripple. He had so very nearly lost his life, that what remained waswonderfully precious to him. It was obvious in the anxious brightness ofhis eyes, how proud he was, after the great shock, of being alive. But hehad been so much hurt that something inside him had perished, some ofhis feelings had gone. There was a blank of insentience. Constance, his wife, was a ruddy, country-looking girl with softbrown hair and sturdy body, and slow movements, full of unusual energy.She had big, wondering eyes, and a soft mild voice, and seemed just tohave come from her native village. It was not so at all. Her father wasthe once well- known R. A., old Sir Malcolm Reid. Her mother had beenone of the cultivated Fabians in the palmy, rather pre-Raphaelite days.Between artists and cultured socialists, Constance and her sister Hilda hadwhat might be called an aesthetically unconventional upbringing. Theyhad been taken to Paris and Florence and Rome to breathe in art, and theyhad been taken also in the other direction, to the Hague and Berlin, togreat Socialist conventions, where the speakers spoke in every civilisedtongue, and no one was abashed. The two girls, therefore, were from an early age not the least dauntedby either art or ideal politics. It was their natural atmosphere. They wereat once cosmopolitan and provincial, with the cosmopolitan provincialismof art that goes with pure social ideals. They had been sent to Dresden at the age of fifteen, for music amongother things. And they had had a good time there. They lived freely amongthe students, they argued with the men over philosophical, sociologicaland artistic matters, they were just as good as the men themselves: onlybetter, since they were women. And they tramped off to the forests withsturdy youths bearing guitars, twang-twang! They sang the Wandervogelsongs, and they were free. Free! That was the great word. Out in theopen world, out in the forests of the morning, with lusty and splendid-throated young fellows, free to do as they liked, and--above all--to saywhat they liked. It was the talk that mattered supremely: the impassioned interchange of talk. Love was only a minor accompaniment. P1-3