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An
incessant
buzzing
of
helicopters
filled
the
twilight
.
Every
two
and
a
half
minutes
a
bell
and
the
screech
of
whistles
announced
the
departure
of
one
of
the
light
monorail
trains
which
carried
the
lower
caste
golfers
back
from
their
separate
course
to
the
metropolis
.
Lenina
and
Henry
climbed
into
their
machine
and
started
off
.
At
eight
hundred
feet
Henry
slowed
down
the
helicopter
screws
,
and
they
hung
for
a
minute
or
two
poised
above
the
fading
landscape
.
The
forest
of
Burnham
Beeches
stretched
like
a
great
pool
of
darkness
towards
the
bright
shore
of
the
western
sky
.
Crimson
at
the
horizon
,
the
last
of
the
sunset
faded
,
through
orange
,
upwards
into
yellow
and
a
pale
watery
green
.
Northwards
,
beyond
and
above
the
trees
,
the
Internal
and
External
Secretions
factory
glared
with
a
fierce
electric
brilliance
from
every
window
of
its
twenty
stories
.
Beneath
them
lay
the
buildings
of
the
Golf
Club
–
the
huge
Lower
Caste
barracks
and
,
on
the
other
side
of
a
dividing
wall
,
the
smaller
houses
reserved
for
Alpha
and
Beta
members
.
The
approaches
to
the
monorail
station
were
black
with
the
ant
-
like
pullulation
of
lower
-
caste
activity
.
From
under
the
glass
vault
a
lighted
train
shot
out
into
the
open
.
Following
its
southeasterly
course
across
the
dark
plain
their
eyes
were
drawn
to
the
majestic
buildings
of
the
Slough
Crematorium
.
For
the
safety
of
night
-
flying
planes
,
its
four
tall
chimneys
were
flood
-
lighted
and
tipped
with
crimson
danger
signals
.
It
was
a
landmark
.
"
Why
do
the
smoke
-
stacks
have
those
things
like
balconies
around
them
?
"
enquired
Lenina
.
"
Phosphorus
recovery
,
"
explained
Henry
telegraphically
.
"
On
their
way
up
the
chimney
the
gases
go
through
four
separate
treatments
.
P
2
O
5
used
to
go
right
out
of
circulation
every
time
they
cremated
some
one
.
Now
they
recover
over
ninety
-
eight
per
cent
of
it
.
More
than
a
kilo
and
a
half
per
adult
corpse
.
Which
makes
the
best
part
of
four
hundred
tons
of
phosphorus
every
year
from
England
alone
.
"
Henry
spoke
with
a
happy
pride
,
rejoicing
whole
-
heartedly
in
the
achievement
,
as
though
it
had
been
his
own
.
"
Fine
to
think
we
can
go
on
being
socially
useful
even
after
we
’
re
dead
.
Making
plants
grow
.
"
Lenina
,
meanwhile
,
had
turned
her
eyes
away
and
was
looking
perpendicularly
downwards
at
the
monorail
station
.
"
Fine
,
"
she
agreed
.
"
But
queer
that
Alphas
and
Betas
won
’
t
make
any
more
plants
grow
than
those
nasty
little
Gammas
and
Deltas
and
Epsilons
down
there
.
"
"
Even
an
Epsilon
.
.
.
"
Lenina
suddenly
remembered
an
occasion
when
,
as
a
little
girl
at
school
,
she
had
woken
up
in
the
middle
of
the
night
and
become
aware
,
for
the
first
time
,
of
the
whispering
that
had
haunted
all
her
sleeps
.
She
saw
again
the
beam
of
moonlight
,
the
row
of
small
white
beds
;
heard
once
more
the
soft
,
soft
voice
that
said
(
the
words
were
there
,
unforgotten
,
unforgettable
after
so
many
night
-
long
repetitions
)
:
"
Every
one
works
for
every
one
else
.
We
can
’
t
do
without
any
one
.
Even
Epsilons
are
useful
.
We
couldn
’
t
do
without
Epsilons
.
Every
one
works
for
every
one
else
.
We
can
’
t
do
without
any
one
.
.
.
"
Lenina
remembered
her
first
shock
of
fear
and
surprise
;
her
speculations
through
half
a
wakeful
hour
;
and
then
,
under
the
influence
of
those
endless
repetitions
,
the
gradual
soothing
of
her
mind
,
the
soothing
,
the
smoothing
,
the
stealthy
creeping
of
sleep
.
.
.
.
"
I
suppose
Epsilons
don
’
t
really
mind
being
Epsilons
,
"
she
said
aloud
.
"
Of
course
they
don
’
t
.
How
can
they
?
They
don
’
t
know
what
it
’
s
like
being
anything
else
.
We
’
d
mind
,
of
course
.
But
then
we
’
ve
been
differently
conditioned
.
Besides
,
we
start
with
a
different
heredity
.
"
