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"
I
’
m
glad
I
’
m
not
an
Epsilon
,
"
said
Lenina
,
with
conviction
.
"
And
if
you
were
an
Epsilon
,
"
said
Henry
,
"
your
conditioning
would
have
made
you
no
less
thankful
that
you
weren
’
t
a
Beta
or
an
Alpha
.
"
He
put
his
forward
propeller
into
gear
and
headed
the
machine
towards
London
.
Behind
them
,
in
the
west
,
the
crimson
and
orange
were
almost
faded
;
a
dark
bank
of
cloud
had
crept
into
the
zenith
.
As
they
flew
over
the
crematorium
,
the
plane
shot
upwards
on
the
column
of
hot
air
rising
from
the
chimneys
,
only
to
fall
as
suddenly
when
it
passed
into
the
descending
chill
beyond
.
"
What
a
marvellous
switchback
!
"
Lenina
laughed
delightedly
.
But
Henry
’
s
tone
was
almost
,
for
a
moment
,
melancholy
.
"
Do
you
know
what
that
switchback
was
?
"
he
said
.
"
It
was
some
human
being
finally
and
definitely
disappearing
.
Going
up
in
a
squirt
of
hot
gas
.
It
would
be
curious
to
know
who
it
was
–
a
man
or
a
woman
,
an
Alpha
or
an
Epsilon
.
.
.
.
"
He
sighed
.
Then
,
in
a
resolutely
cheerful
voice
,
"
Anyhow
,
"
he
concluded
,
"
there
’
s
one
thing
we
can
be
certain
of
;
whoever
he
may
have
been
,
he
was
happy
when
he
was
alive
.
Everybody
’
s
happy
now
.
"
"
Yes
,
everybody
’
s
happy
now
,
"
echoed
Lenina
.
They
had
heard
the
words
repeated
a
hundred
and
fifty
times
every
night
for
twelve
years
.
Landing
on
the
roof
of
Henry
’
s
forty
-
story
apartment
house
in
Westminster
,
they
went
straight
down
to
the
dining
-
hall
.
There
,
in
a
loud
and
cheerful
company
,
they
ate
an
excellent
meal
.
Soma
was
served
with
the
coffee
.
Lenina
took
two
half
-
gramme
tablets
and
Henry
three
.
At
twenty
past
nine
they
walked
across
the
street
to
the
newly
opened
Westminster
Abbey
Cabaret
.
It
was
a
night
almost
without
clouds
,
moonless
and
starry
;
but
of
this
on
the
whole
depressing
fact
Lenina
and
Henry
were
fortunately
unaware
.
The
electric
sky
-
signs
effectively
shut
off
the
outer
darkness
.
"
CALVIN
STOPES
AND
HIS
SIXTEEN
SEXOPHONISTS
.
"
From
the
façade
of
the
new
Abbey
the
giant
letters
invitingly
glared
.
"
LONDON
’
S
FINEST
SCENT
AND
COLOUR
ORGAN
.
ALL
THE
LATEST
SYNTHETIC
MUSIC
.
"
They
entered
.
The
air
seemed
hot
and
somehow
breathless
with
the
scent
of
ambergris
and
sandalwood
.
On
the
domed
ceiling
of
the
hall
,
the
colour
organ
had
momentarily
painted
a
tropical
sunset
.
The
Sixteen
Sexophonists
were
playing
an
old
favourite
:
"
There
ain
’
t
no
Bottle
in
all
the
world
like
that
dear
little
Bottle
of
mine
.
"
Four
hundred
couples
were
five
-
stepping
round
the
polished
floor
.
Lenina
and
Henry
were
soon
the
four
hundred
and
first
.
The
saxophones
wailed
like
melodious
cats
under
the
moon
,
moaned
in
the
alto
and
tenor
registers
as
though
the
little
death
were
upon
them
.
Rich
with
a
wealth
of
harmonics
,
their
tremulous
chorus
mounted
towards
a
climax
,
louder
and
ever
louder
–
until
at
last
,
with
a
wave
of
his
hand
,
the
conductor
let
loose
the
final
shattering
note
of
ether
-
music
and
blew
the
sixteen
merely
human
blowers
clean
out
of
existence
.
Thunder
in
A
flat
major
.
And
then
,
in
all
but
silence
,
in
all
but
darkness
,
there
followed
a
gradual
deturgescence
,
a
diminuendo
sliding
gradually
,
through
quarter
tones
,
down
,
down
to
a
faintly
whispered
dominant
chord
that
lingered
on
(
while
the
five
-
four
rhythms
still
pulsed
below
)
charging
the
darkened
seconds
with
an
intense
expectancy
.
And
at
last
expectancy
was
fulfilled
.
There
was
a
sudden
explosive
sunrise
,
and
simultaneously
,
the
Sixteen
burst
into
song
:
