Sons and Lovers - Daimon Club

"But I like the feel of MEN on things, while they're alive.
There's a feel of men about trucks, because they've been handled
with men's hands, all of them."
"Yes," said Mrs. Morel.
They went along under the trees of the highroad. He was
constantly informing her, but she was interested. They passed
the end of Nethermere, that was tossing its sunshine like petals lightly
in its lap. Then they turned on a private road, and in some
trepidation approached a big farm. A dog barked furiously.
A woman came out to see.
"Is this the way to Willey Farm?" Mrs. Morel asked.
Paul hung behind in terror of being sent back. But the woman
was amiable, and directed them. The mother and son went through
the wheat and oats, over a little bridge into a wild meadow.
Peewits, with their white breasts glistening, wheeled and screamed
about them. The lake was still and blue. High overhead
a heron floated. Opposite, the wood heaped on the hill, green and still.