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It
was
a
large
room
bright
with
sunshine
and
yellow
paint
,
and
containing
twenty
beds
,
all
occupied
.
Linda
was
dying
in
company
–
in
company
and
with
all
the
modern
conveniences
.
The
air
was
continuously
alive
with
gay
synthetic
melodies
.
At
the
foot
of
every
bed
,
confronting
its
moribund
occupant
,
was
a
television
box
.
Television
was
left
on
,
a
running
tap
,
from
morning
till
night
.
Every
quarter
of
an
hour
the
prevailing
perfume
of
the
room
was
automatically
changed
.
"
We
try
,
"
explained
the
nurse
,
who
had
taken
charge
of
the
Savage
at
the
door
,
"
we
try
to
create
a
thoroughly
pleasant
atmosphere
here
–
something
between
a
first
-
class
hotel
and
a
feely
?
palace
,
if
you
take
my
meaning
.
"
"
Where
is
she
?
"
asked
the
Savage
,
ignoring
these
polite
explanations
.
The
nurse
was
offended
.
"
You
are
in
a
hurry
,
"
she
said
.
"
Is
there
any
hope
?
"
he
asked
.
"
You
mean
,
of
her
not
dying
?
"
(
He
nodded
.
)
"
No
,
of
course
there
isn
’
t
.
When
somebody
’
s
sent
here
,
there
’
s
no
.
.
.
"
Startled
by
the
expression
of
distress
on
his
pale
face
,
she
suddenly
broke
off
.
"
Why
,
whatever
is
the
matter
?
"
she
asked
.
She
was
not
accustomed
to
this
kind
of
thing
in
visitors
.
(
Not
that
there
were
many
visitors
anyhow
:
or
any
reason
why
there
should
be
many
visitors
.
)
"
You
’
re
not
feeling
ill
,
are
you
?
"
He
shook
his
head
.
"
She
’
s
my
mother
,
"
he
said
in
a
scarcely
audible
voice
.
The
nurse
glanced
at
him
with
startled
,
horrified
eyes
;
then
quickly
looked
away
.
From
throat
to
temple
she
was
all
one
hot
blush
.
"
Take
me
to
her
,
"
said
the
Savage
,
making
an
effort
to
speak
in
an
ordinary
tone
.
Still
blushing
,
she
led
the
way
down
the
ward
.
Faces
still
fresh
and
unwithered
(
for
senility
galloped
so
hard
that
it
had
no
time
to
age
the
cheeks
–
only
the
heart
and
brain
)
turned
as
they
passed
.
Their
progress
was
followed
by
the
blank
,
incurious
eyes
of
second
infancy
.
The
Savage
shuddered
as
he
looked
.
