Page 265 - BRAVE NEW WORLD By Aldous Huxley (1894-1963)

Brave New World By Aldous Huxley

faintly, and at last is quiet, quite still.

But for Lenina the moth did not completely

die. Even after the lights had gone up, while they

were shuffling slowly along with the crowd towards

the lifts, its ghost still fluttered against her lips, still

traced fine shuddering roads of anxiety and pleasure

across her skin. Her cheeks were flushed. She

caught hold of the Savage's arm and pressed it,

limp, against her side. He looked down at her for a

moment, pale, pained, desiring, and ashamed of his

desire. He was not worthy, not Their eyes for a

moment met. What treasures hers promised! A

queen's ransom of temperament. Hastily he looked

away, disengaged his imprisoned arm. He was

obscurely terrified lest she should cease to be

something he could feel himself unworthy of.

"I don't think you ought to see things like

that," he said, making haste to transfer from Lenina

herself to the surrounding circumstances the blame

for any past or possible future lapse from perfection.

"Things like what, John?"

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