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- О дивный новый мир
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"
Popé
!
"
she
murmured
,
and
closed
her
eyes
.
"
Oh
,
I
do
so
like
it
,
I
do
.
.
.
"
She
sighed
and
let
herself
sink
back
into
the
pillows
.
"
But
,
Linda
!
"
The
Savage
spoke
imploringly
,
"
Don
’
t
you
know
me
?
"
He
had
tried
so
hard
,
had
done
his
very
best
;
why
wouldn
’
t
she
allow
him
to
forget
?
He
squeezed
her
limp
hand
almost
with
violence
,
as
though
he
would
force
her
to
come
back
from
this
dream
of
ignoble
pleasures
,
from
these
base
and
hateful
memories
–
back
into
the
present
,
back
into
reality
:
the
appalling
present
,
the
awful
reality
–
but
sublime
,
but
significant
,
but
desperately
important
precisely
because
of
the
imminence
of
that
which
made
them
so
fearful
.
"
Don
’
t
you
know
me
,
Linda
?
"
He
felt
the
faint
answering
pressure
of
her
hand
.
The
tears
started
into
his
eyes
.
He
bent
over
her
and
kissed
her
.
Her
lips
moved
.
"
Popé
!
"
she
whispered
again
,
and
it
was
as
though
he
had
had
a
pailful
of
ordure
thrown
in
his
face
.
Anger
suddenly
boiled
up
in
him
.
Balked
for
the
second
time
,
the
passion
of
his
grief
had
found
another
outlet
,
was
transformed
into
a
passion
of
agonized
rage
.
"
But
I
’
m
John
!
"
he
shouted
.
"
I
’
m
John
!
"
And
in
his
furious
misery
he
actually
caught
her
by
the
shoulder
and
shook
her
.
Linda
’
s
eyes
fluttered
open
;
she
saw
him
,
knew
him
–
"
John
!
"
–
but
situated
the
real
face
,
the
real
and
violent
hands
,
in
an
imaginary
world
–
among
the
inward
and
private
equivalents
of
patchouli
and
the
Super
-
Wurlitzer
,
among
the
transfigured
memories
and
the
strangely
transposed
sensations
that
constituted
the
universe
of
her
dream
.
She
knew
him
for
John
,
her
son
,
but
fancied
him
an
intruder
into
that
paradisal
Malpais
where
she
had
been
spending
her
soma
-
holiday
with
Popé
.
He
was
angry
because
she
liked
Popé
,
he
was
shaking
her
because
Popé
was
there
in
the
bed
–
as
though
there
were
something
wrong
,
as
though
all
civilized
people
didn
’
t
do
the
same
.
"
Every
one
belongs
to
every
.
.
.
"
Her
voice
suddenly
died
into
an
almost
inaudible
breathless
croaking
.
Her
mouth
fell
open
:
she
made
a
desperate
effort
to
fill
her
lungs
with
air
.
But
it
was
as
though
she
had
forgotten
how
to
breathe
.
She
tried
to
cry
out
–
but
no
sound
came
;
only
the
terror
of
her
staring
eyes
revealed
what
she
was
suffering
.
Her
hands
went
to
her
throat
,
then
clawed
at
the
air
–
the
air
she
could
no
longer
breathe
,
the
air
that
,
for
her
,
had
ceased
to
exist
.
The
Savage
was
on
his
feet
,
bent
over
her
.
"
What
is
it
,
Linda
?
What
is
it
?
"
His
voice
was
imploring
;
it
was
as
though
he
were
begging
to
be
reassured
.
The
look
she
gave
him
was
charged
with
an
unspeakable
terror
–
with
terror
and
,
it
seemed
to
him
,
reproach
.
