She broke away as quickly as she could.
A blubbered and distorted face confronted her; the creature was crying.
"Oh, my dear, my dear." The torrent of words flowed sobbingly.
"If you knew how glad-after all these years! A civilized face.
Yes, and civilized clothes.
Because I thought I should never see a piece of real acetate silk again."
She fingered the sleeve of Lenina's shirt.
The nails were black.
"And those adorable viscose velveteen shorts!
Do you know, dear, I've still got my old clothes, the ones I came in, put away in a box.
I'll show them you afterwards.
Though, of course, the acetate has all gone into holes.
But such a lovely white bandolier-though I must say your green morocco is even lovelier.
Not that it did me much good, that bandolier."
Her tears began to flow again.
"I suppose John told you.
What I had to suffer-and not a gramme of soma to be had.
Only a drink of mescal every now and then, when Pope used to bring it.
Pope is a boy I used to know.
But it makes you feel so bad afterwards, the mescal does, and you're sick with the peyotl; besides it always made that awful feeling of being ashamed much worse the next day.
And I was so ashamed.
Just think of it: me, a Beta-having a baby: put yourself in my place." (The mere suggestion made Lenina shudder.)
"Though it wasn't my fault, I swear; because I still don't know how it happened, seeing that I did all the Malthusian Drill-you know, by numbers, One, two, three, four, always, I swear it; but all the same it happened, and of course there wasn't anything like an Abortion Centre here.
Is it still down in Chelsea, by the way?" she asked. Lenina nodded.
"And still floodlighted on Tuesdays and Fridays?" Lenina nodded again.
"That lovely pink glass tower!"
Poor Linda lifted her face and with closed eyes ecstatically contemplated the bright remembered image.
"And the river at night," she whispered.
Great tears oozed slowly out from behind her tight-shut eyelids.
"And flying back in the evening from Stoke Poges.
And then a hot bath and vibro-vacuum massage ... But there."
She drew a deep breath, shook her head, opened her eyes again, sniffed once or twice, then blew her nose on her fingers and wiped them on the skirt of her tunic.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said in response to Lenina's involuntary grimace of disgust.
"I oughtn't to have done that. I'm sorry.
But what are you to do when there aren't any handkerchiefs?
I remember how it used to upset me, all that dirt, and nothing being aseptic.
I had an awful cut on my head when they first brought me here.
You can't imagine what they used to put on it.
Filth, just filth.
'Civilization is Sterilization,' I used to say t them.
And
'Streptocock-Gee to Banbury-T, to see a fine bathroom and W.C.' as though they were children.
But of course they didn't understand.
How should they?
And in the end I suppose I got used to it.
And anyhow, how can you keep things clean when there isn't hot water laid on?
And look at these clothes.
This beastly wool isn't like acetate.
It lasts and lasts.
And you're supposed to mend it if it gets torn.