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The
young
man
stood
outside
the
rest
-
house
.
"
Bernard
,
"
he
called
.
"
Bernard
!
"
There
was
no
answer
.
Noiseless
on
his
deerksin
moccasins
,
he
ran
up
the
steps
and
tried
the
door
.
The
door
was
locked
.
They
were
gone
!
Gone
!
It
was
the
most
terrible
thing
that
had
ever
happened
to
him
.
She
had
asked
him
to
come
and
see
them
,
and
now
they
were
gone
.
He
sat
down
on
the
steps
and
cried
.
Half
an
hour
later
it
occurred
to
him
to
look
through
the
window
.
The
first
thing
he
saw
was
a
green
suit
-
case
,
with
the
initials
L
.
C
.
painted
on
the
lid
.
Joy
flared
up
like
fire
within
him
.
He
picked
up
a
stone
.
The
smashed
glass
tinkled
on
the
floor
.
A
moment
later
he
was
inside
the
room
.
He
opened
the
green
suit
-
case
;
and
all
at
once
he
was
breathing
Lenina
’
s
perfume
,
filling
his
lungs
with
her
essential
being
.
His
heart
beat
wildly
;
for
a
moment
he
was
almost
faint
.
Then
,
bending
over
the
precious
box
,
he
touched
,
he
lifted
into
the
light
,
he
examined
.
The
zippers
on
Lenina
’
s
spare
pair
of
viscose
velveteen
shorts
were
at
first
a
puzzle
,
then
solved
,
a
delight
.
Zip
,
and
then
zip
;
zip
,
and
then
zip
;
he
was
enchanted
.
Her
green
slippers
were
the
most
beautiful
things
he
had
ever
seen
.
He
unfolded
a
pair
of
zippicamiknicks
,
blushed
,
put
them
hastily
away
again
;
but
kissed
a
perfumed
acetate
handkerchief
and
wound
a
scarf
round
his
neck
.
Opening
a
box
,
he
spilt
a
cloud
of
scented
powder
.
His
hands
were
floury
with
the
stuff
.
He
wiped
them
on
his
chest
,
on
his
shoulders
,
on
his
bare
arms
.
Delicious
perfume
!
He
shut
his
eyes
;
he
rubbed
his
cheek
against
his
own
powdered
arm
.
Touch
of
smooth
skin
against
his
face
,
scent
in
his
nostrils
of
musky
dust
–
her
real
presence
.
"
Lenina
,
"
he
whispered
.
"
Lenina
!
"
A
noise
made
him
start
,
made
him
guiltily
turn
.
He
crammed
up
his
thieveries
into
the
suit
-
case
and
shut
the
lid
;
then
listened
again
,
looked
.
Not
a
sign
of
life
,
not
a
sound
.
And
yet
he
had
certainly
heard
something
–
something
like
a
sigh
,
something
like
the
creak
of
a
board
.
He
tiptoed
to
the
door
and
,
cautiously
opening
it
,
found
himself
looking
on
to
a
broad
landing
.
On
the
opposite
side
of
the
landing
was
another
door
,
ajar
.
He
stepped
out
,
pushed
,
peeped
.
There
,
on
a
low
bed
,
the
sheet
flung
back
,
dressed
in
a
pair
of
pink
one
-
piece
zippyjamas
,
lay
Lenina
,
fast
asleep
and
so
beautiful
in
the
midst
of
her
curls
,
so
touchingly
childish
with
her
pink
toes
and
her
grave
sleeping
face
,
so
trustful
in
the
helplessness
of
her
limp
hands
and
melted
limbs
,
that
the
tears
came
to
his
eyes
.
With
an
infinity
of
quite
unnecessary
precautions
–
for
nothing
short
of
a
pistol
shot
could
have
called
Lenina
back
from
her
soma
-
holiday
before
the
appointed
time
–
he
entered
the
room
,
he
knelt
on
the
floor
beside
the
bed
.
He
gazed
,
he
clasped
his
hands
,
his
lips
moved
.
"
Her
eyes
,
"
he
murmured
,
