Page 175 - BraveNewWorld

IDPH 175

The young woman stood, smiling at him-an uncertain, imploring, almost abject
smile. The seconds passed. Her lips moved, she was saying something; but the
sound of her voice was covered by the loud reiterated refrain of the sightseers.
“We-want-the whip! We-want-the whip!”
The young woman pressed both hands to her left side, and on that peach-
bright, doll-beautiful face of hers appeared a strangely incongrous expressi-
on of yearning distress. Her blue eyes seemed to grow larger, brighter; and
suddenly two tears rolled down her cheeks. Inaudibly, she spoke again; then,
with a quick, impassioned gesture stretched out her arms towards the Savage,
stepped forward.
“We-want-the whip! We-want .”
And all of a sudden they had what they wanted.

“Strumpet!” The Savage had rushed at her like a madman. “Fitchew!” Like a
madman, he was slashing at her with his whip of small cords.

Terrified, she had turned to flee, had tripped and fallen in the heather. “Henry,
Henry!” she shouted. But her ruddy-faced companion had bolted out of harm’s
way behind the helicopter.
With a whoop of delighted excitement the line broke; there was a convergent
stampede towards that magnetic centre of attraction. Pain was a fascinating
horror.
“Fry, lechery, fry!” Frenzied, the Savage slashed again.

Hungrily they gathered round, pushing and scrambling like swine about the
trough.
“Oh, the flesh!” The Savage ground his teeth. This time it was on his shoulders
that the whip descended. “Kill it, kill it!”
Drawn by the fascination of the horror of pain and, from within, impelled by
that habit of cooperation, that desire for unanimity and atonement, which their
conditioning had so ineradicably implanted in them, they began to mime the
frenzy of his gestures, striking at one another as the Savage struck at his own
rebellious flesh, or at that plump incarnation of turpitude writhing in the he-
ather at his feet.

“Kill it, kill it, kill it .” The Savage went on shouting.
Then suddenly somebody started singing “Orgy-porgy” and, in a moment, they
had all caught up the refrain and, singing, had begun to dance. Orgy-porgy,
round and round and round, beating one another in six-eight time. Orgy- porgy.
It was after midnight when the last of the helicopters took its flight. Stupefied

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