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pened; he was thinking of Lenina, of an angel in bottle-green viscose, lustrous with youth and skin food, plump, benevolently smiling. His voice faltered. “O brave new world,” he began, then-suddenly interrupted himself; the blood had left his cheeks; he was as pale as paper. “Are you married to her?” he asked. “Am I what?” “Married. You know-for ever. They say ’for ever’ in the Indian words; it can’t be broken.” “Ford, no!” Bernard couldn’t help laughing. John also laughed, but for another reason-laughed for pure joy. “O brave new world,” he repeated. “O brave new world that has such people in it. Let’s start at once.” “You have a most peculiar way of talking sometimes,” said Bernard, staring at the young man in perplexed astonishment. “And, anyhow, hadn’t you better wait till you actually see the new world?”
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