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"
It
was
base
,
"
he
said
indignantly
,
"
it
was
ignoble
.
"
She
shook
her
head
.
"
I
don
’
t
know
what
you
mean
.
"
Why
was
he
so
queer
?
Why
did
he
go
out
of
his
way
to
spoil
things
?
In
the
taxicopter
he
hardly
even
looked
at
her
.
Bound
by
strong
vows
that
had
never
been
pronounced
,
obedient
to
laws
that
had
long
since
ceased
to
run
,
he
sat
averted
and
in
silence
.
Sometimes
,
as
though
a
finger
had
plucked
at
some
taut
,
almost
breaking
string
,
his
whole
body
would
shake
with
a
sudden
nervous
start
.
The
taxicopter
landed
on
the
roof
of
Lenina
’
s
apartment
house
.
"
At
last
,
"
she
thought
exultantly
as
she
stepped
out
of
the
cab
.
At
last
–
even
though
he
had
been
so
queer
just
now
.
Standing
under
a
lamp
,
she
peered
into
her
hand
mirror
.
At
last
.
Yes
,
her
nose
was
a
bit
shiny
.
She
shook
the
loose
powder
from
her
puff
.
While
he
was
paying
off
the
taxi
–
there
would
just
be
time
.
She
rubbed
at
the
shininess
,
thinking
:
"
He
’
s
terribly
good
-
looking
.
No
need
for
him
to
be
shy
like
Bernard
.
And
yet
.
.
.
Any
other
man
would
have
done
it
long
ago
.
Well
,
now
at
last
.
"
That
fragment
of
a
face
in
the
little
round
mirror
suddenly
smiled
at
her
.
"
Good
-
night
,
"
said
a
strangled
voice
behind
her
.
Lenina
wheeled
round
.
He
was
standing
in
the
doorway
of
the
cab
,
his
eyes
fixed
,
staring
;
had
evidently
been
staring
all
this
time
while
she
was
powdering
her
nose
,
waiting
–
but
what
for
?
or
hesitating
,
trying
to
make
up
his
mind
,
and
all
the
time
thinking
,
thinking
–
she
could
not
imagine
what
extraordinary
thoughts
.
"
Good
-
night
,
Lenina
,
"
he
repeated
,
and
made
a
strange
grimacing
attempt
to
smile
.
"
But
,
John
.
.
.
I
thought
you
were
.
.
.
I
mean
,
aren
’
t
you
?
.
.
.
"
He
shut
the
door
and
bent
forward
to
say
something
to
the
driver
.
The
cab
shot
up
into
the
air
.
Looking
down
through
the
window
in
the
floor
,
the
Savage
could
see
Lenina
’
s
upturned
face
,
pale
in
the
bluish
light
of
the
lamps
.
The
mouth
was
open
,
she
was
calling
.
Her
foreshortened
figure
rushed
away
from
him
;
the
diminishing
square
of
the
roof
seemed
to
be
falling
through
the
darkness
Five
minutes
later
he
was
back
in
his
room
.
From
its
hiding
-
place
he
took
out
his
mouse
-
nibbled
volume
,
turned
with
religious
care
its
stained
and
crumbled
pages
,
and
began
to
read
Othello
.
Othello
,
he
remembered
,
was
like
the
hero
of
Three
Weeks
in
a
Helicopter
–
a
black
man
.
Drying
her
eyes
,
Lenina
walked
across
the
roof
to
the
lift
.
On
her
way
down
to
the
twenty
-
seventh
floor
she
pulled
out
her
soma
bottle
.
One
gramme
,
she
decided
,
would
not
be
enough
;
hers
had
been
more
than
a
one
-
gramme
affliction
.
But
if
she
took
two
grammes
,
she
ran
the
risk
of
not
waking
up
in
time
to
-
morrow
morning
.
She
compromised
and
,
into
her
cupped
left
palm
,
shook
out
three
half
-
gramme
tablets
.
