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Crome Yellow | Aldous Huxley | |
Chapter XIX |
Page 6 of 7 |
"In the garden that afternoon they found themselves for a moment alone. "You won't tell anyone, George? Promise you won't tell anyone,' she implored. 'It would make us look so ridiculous. And besides, eating IS unspiritual, isn't it? Say you won't tell anyone.' "'I will,' said George brutally. 'I'll tell everyone, unless...' "'It's blackmail.' "'I don't care, said George. 'I'll give you twenty-four hours to decide.' "Lady Lapith was disappointed, of course; she had hoped for better things--for Timpany and a coronet. But George, after all, wasn't so bad. They were married at the New Year. "My poor grandfather!" Mr. Wimbush added, as he closed his book and put away his pince-nez. "Whenever I read in the papers about oppressed nationalities, I think of him." He relighted his cigar. "It was a maternal government, highly centralised, and there were no representative institutions." Henry Wimbush ceased speaking. In the silence that ensued Ivor's whispered commentary on the spirit sketches once more became audible. Priscilla, who had been dozing, suddenly woke up. "What?" she said in the startled tones of one newly returned to consciousness; "what?" Jenny caught the words. She looked up, smiled, nodded reassuringly. "It's about a ham," she said. "What's about a ham?" "What Henry has been reading." She closed the red notebook lying on her knees and slipped a rubber band round it. "I'm going to bed," she announced, and got up. "So am I," said Anne, yawning. But she lacked the energy to rise from her arm-chair. The night was hot and oppressive. Round the open windows the curtains hung unmoving. Ivor, fanning himself with the portrait of an Astral Being, looked out into the darkness and drew a breath. |
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Crome Yellow Aldous Huxley |
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