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"
Now
bring
in
the
children
.
"
They
hurried
out
of
the
room
and
returned
in
a
minute
or
two
,
each
pushing
a
kind
of
tall
dumb
-
waiter
laden
,
on
all
its
four
wire
-
netted
shelves
,
with
eight
-
month
-
old
babies
,
all
exactly
alike
(
a
Bokanovsky
Group
,
it
was
evident
)
and
all
(
since
their
caste
was
Delta
)
dressed
in
khaki
.
"
Put
them
down
on
the
floor
.
"
The
infants
were
unloaded
.
"
Now
turn
them
so
that
they
can
see
the
flowers
and
books
.
"
Turned
,
the
babies
at
once
fell
silent
,
then
began
to
crawl
towards
those
clusters
of
sleek
colours
,
those
shapes
so
gay
and
brilliant
on
the
white
pages
.
As
they
approached
,
the
sun
came
out
of
a
momentary
eclipse
behind
a
cloud
.
The
roses
flamed
up
as
though
with
a
sudden
passion
from
within
;
a
new
and
profound
significance
seemed
to
suffuse
the
shining
pages
of
the
books
.
From
the
ranks
of
the
crawling
babies
came
little
squeals
of
excitement
,
gurgles
and
twitterings
of
pleasure
.
The
Director
rubbed
his
hands
.
"
Excellent
!
"
he
said
.
"
It
might
almost
have
been
done
on
purpose
.
"
The
swiftest
crawlers
were
already
at
their
goal
.
Small
hands
reached
out
uncertainly
,
touched
,
grasped
,
unpetaling
the
transfigured
roses
,
crumpling
the
illuminated
pages
of
the
books
.
The
Director
waited
until
all
were
happily
busy
.
Then
,
"
Watch
carefully
,
"
he
said
.
And
,
lifting
his
hand
,
he
gave
the
signal
.
The
Head
Nurse
,
who
was
standing
by
a
switchboard
at
the
other
end
of
the
room
,
pressed
down
a
little
lever
.
There
was
a
violent
explosion
.
Shriller
and
ever
shriller
,
a
siren
shrieked
.
Alarm
bells
maddeningly
sounded
.
