Chapter 7

           Themesawaslikeashipbecalmedinastraitoflion?coloureddust.Thechannelwoundbetweenprecipitousbanks,andslantingfromonewalltotheotheracrossthevalleyranastreakofgreen-theriveranditsfields.Ontheprowofthatstoneshipinthecentreofthestrait,andseeminglyapartofit,ashapedandgeometricaloutcropofthenakedrock,stoodthepuebloofMalpais.Blockaboveblock,eachstorysmallerthantheonebelow,thetallhousesroselikesteppedandamputatedpyramidsintothebluesky.Attheirfeetlayastraggleoflowbuildings,acriss-crossofwalls;andonthreesidestheprecipicesfellsheerintotheplain.Afewcolumnsofsmokemountedperpendicularlyintothewindlessairandwerelost.

           "Queer,"saidLenina."Veryqueer."Itwasherordinarywordofcondemnation."Idon’tlikeit.AndIdon’tlikethatman."ShepointedtotheIndianguidewhohadbeenappointedtotakethemuptothepueblo.Herfeelingwasevidentlyreciprocated;theverybackoftheman,ashewalkedalongbeforethem,washostile,sullenlycontemptuous.

           "Besides,"sheloweredhervoice,"hesmells."

           Bernarddidnotattempttodenyit.Theywalkedon.

           Suddenlyitwasasthoughthewholeairhadcomealiveandwerepulsing,pulsingwiththeindefatigablemovementofblood.Upthere,inMalpais,thedrumswerebeingbeaten.Theirfeetfellinwiththerhythmofthatmysteriousheart;theyquickenedtheirpace.Theirpathledthemtothefootoftheprecipice.