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"
It
seems
a
funny
way
of
curing
your
unhappiness
,
"
said
Bernard
.
But
on
second
thoughts
he
decided
that
there
was
,
after
all
,
some
sense
in
it
.
Better
than
taking
soma
.
.
.
"
I
fainted
after
a
time
,
"
said
the
young
man
.
"
Fell
down
on
my
face
.
Do
you
see
the
mark
where
I
cut
myself
?
"
He
lifted
the
thick
yellow
hair
from
his
forehead
.
The
scar
showed
,
pale
and
puckered
,
on
his
right
temple
.
Bernard
looked
,
and
then
quickly
,
with
a
little
shudder
,
averted
his
eyes
.
His
conditioning
had
made
him
not
so
much
pitiful
as
profoundly
squeamish
.
The
mere
suggestion
of
illness
or
wounds
was
to
him
not
only
horrifying
,
but
even
repulsive
and
rather
disgusting
.
Like
dirt
,
or
deformity
,
or
old
age
.
Hastily
he
changed
the
subject
.
"
I
wonder
if
you
’
d
like
to
come
back
to
London
with
us
?
"
he
asked
,
making
the
first
move
in
a
campaign
whose
strategy
he
had
been
secretly
elaborating
ever
since
,
in
the
little
house
,
he
had
realized
who
the
"
father
"
of
this
young
savage
must
be
.
"
Would
you
like
that
?
"
The
young
man
’
s
face
lit
up
.
"
Do
you
really
mean
it
?
"
"
Of
course
;
if
I
can
get
permission
,
that
is
.
"
"
Linda
too
?
"
"
Well
.
.
.
"
He
hesitated
doubtfully
.
That
revolting
creature
!
No
,
it
was
impossible
.
Unless
,
unless
.
.
.
It
suddenly
occurred
to
Bernard
that
her
very
revoltingness
might
prove
an
enormous
asset
.
"
But
of
course
!
"
he
cried
,
making
up
for
his
first
hesitations
with
an
excess
of
noisy
cordiality
.
The
young
man
drew
a
deep
breath
.
"
To
think
it
should
be
coming
true
–
what
I
’
ve
dreamt
of
all
my
life
.
Do
you
remember
what
Miranda
says
?
"
