Page 131 - BRAVE NEW WORLD By Aldous Huxley (1894-1963)

Brave New World By Aldous Huxley

and looked away; the sight of her transfigured face

was at once an accusation and an ironical reminder

of his own separateness. He was as miserably

isolated now as he had been when the service

began–more isolated by reason of his unreplenished

emptiness, his dead satiety. Separate and unatoned,

while the others were being fused into the Greater

Being; alone even in Morgana's embrace–much

more alone, indeed, more hopelessly himself than

he had ever been in his life before. He had emerged

from that crimson twilight into the common electric

glare with a self-consciousness intensified to the

pitch of agony. He was utterly miserable, and

perhaps (her shining eyes accused him), perhaps it

was his own fault. "Quite wonderful," he repeated;

but the only thing he could think of was Morgana's

eyebrow.

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