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"
But
what
happened
?
"
they
asked
.
"
What
were
the
results
?
"
"
The
results
were
terrible
.
"
A
deep
resonant
voice
broke
startlingly
into
the
dialogue
.
They
looked
around
.
On
the
fringe
of
the
little
group
stood
a
stranger
–
a
man
of
middle
height
,
black
-
haired
,
with
a
hooked
nose
,
full
red
lips
,
eyes
very
piercing
and
dark
.
"
Terrible
,
"
he
repeated
.
The
D
.
H
.
C
.
had
at
that
moment
sat
down
on
one
of
the
steel
and
rubber
benches
conveniently
scattered
through
the
gardens
;
but
at
the
sight
of
the
stranger
,
he
sprang
to
his
feet
and
darted
forward
,
his
hand
outstretched
,
smiling
with
all
his
teeth
,
effusive
.
"
Controller
!
What
an
unexpected
pleasure
!
Boys
,
what
are
you
thinking
of
?
This
is
the
Controller
;
this
is
his
fordship
,
Mustapha
Mond
.
"
In
the
four
thousand
rooms
of
the
Centre
the
four
thousand
electric
clocks
simultaneously
struck
four
.
Discarnate
voices
called
from
the
trumpet
mouths
.
"
Main
Day
-
shift
off
duty
.
Second
Day
-
shift
take
over
.
Main
Day
-
shift
off
.
.
.
"
In
the
lift
,
on
their
way
up
to
the
changing
rooms
,
Henry
Foster
and
the
Assistant
Director
of
Predestination
rather
pointedly
turned
their
backs
on
Bernard
Marx
from
the
Psychology
Bureau
:
averted
themselves
from
that
unsavoury
reputation
.
The
faint
hum
and
rattle
of
machinery
still
stirred
the
crimson
air
in
the
Embryo
Store
.
Shifts
might
come
and
go
,
one
lupus
-
coloured
face
give
place
to
another
;
majestically
and
for
ever
the
conveyors
crept
forward
with
their
load
of
future
men
and
women
.
