It’s a lovely springtime afternoon, and you should be outdoors, at the park lazing about, not cramped inside looking for the cheap thrill of an afternoon bedtime story. Go on, go to the park now, and come back and listen later.
But I can only hope you’ve taken my advice, and I’ll assume that it’s later. So here’s a little Lawrence, replete with lovely Lawrencian descriptions of lovely springtime Yorkshire afternoons (as well as customary twisted-knife metaphors on sexual awakening and violence and death and romantic demystification). Excuse the post-nasal drippery; how’s that for commitment?