Chapter 14

           TheParkLaneHospitalfortheDyingwasasixty-storytowerofprimrosetiles.AstheSavagesteppedoutofhistaxicopteraconvoyofgaily-colouredaerialhearsesrosewhirringfromtheroofanddartedawayacrossthePark,westwards,boundfortheSloughCrematorium.Attheliftgatesthepresidingportergavehimtheinformationherequired,andhedroppeddowntoWard81(aGallopingSenilityward,theporterexplained)ontheseventeenthfloor.

           Itwasalargeroombrightwithsunshineandyellowpaint,andcontainingtwentybeds,alloccupied.Lindawasdyingincompany–incompanyandwithallthemodernconveniences.Theairwascontinuouslyalivewithgaysyntheticmelodies.Atthefootofeverybed,confrontingitsmoribundoccupant,wasatelevisionbox.Televisionwaslefton,arunningtap,frommorningtillnight.Everyquarterofanhourtheprevailingperfumeoftheroomwasautomaticallychanged."Wetry,"explainedthenurse,whohadtakenchargeoftheSavageatthedoor,"wetrytocreateathoroughlypleasantatmospherehere–somethingbetweenafirst-classhotelandafeely?palace,ifyoutakemymeaning."

           "Whereisshe?"askedtheSavage,ignoringthesepoliteexplanations.

           Thenursewasoffended."Youareinahurry,"shesaid.

           "Isthereanyhope?"heasked.

           "Youmean,ofhernotdying?"(Henodded.)"No,ofcoursethereisn’t.Whensomebody’ssenthere,there’sno..."Startledbytheexpressionofdistressonhispaleface,shesuddenlybrokeoff."Why,whateveristhematter?"sheasked.