Page 130 - BRAVE NEW WORLD By Aldous Huxley (1894-1963)

Brave New World By Aldous Huxley

cooed; in the red twilight it was as though some

enormous negro dove were hovering benevolently

over the now prone or supine dancers.

They were standing on the roof; Big Henry

had just sung eleven. The night was calm and warm.

"Wasn't it wonderful?" said Fifi Bradlaugh.

"Wasn't it simply wonderful?" She looked at Bernard

with an expression of rapture, but of rapture in

which there was no trace of agitation or excitement–

for to be excited is still to be unsatisfied. Hers was

the calm ecstasy of achieved consummation, the

peace, not of mere vacant satiety and nothingness,

but of balanced life, of energies at rest and in

equilibrium. A rich and living peace. For the

Solidarity Service had given as well as taken, drawn

off only to replenish. She was full, she was made

perfect, she was still more than merely herself.

"Didn't you think it was wonderful?" she insisted,

looking into Bernard's face with those supernaturally

shining eyes.

"Yes, I thought it was wonderful," he lied

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