О дивный новый мир / Brave New World

Chapter One

A grey building of only thirty-four stories. Over the main entrance the words, CENTRAL LONDON HATCHERY AND CONDITIONING CENTRE, and, in a shield, the World State’s motto, COMMUNITY, IDENTITY, STABILITY.

The enormous room on the ground floor faced towards the north. A harsh thin light glared through the windows. The overalls of the workers were white, their hands gloved with a pale corpse-coloured rubber. The light was frozen, dead, a ghost. The only colourful things were the yellow barrels of the microscopes; streak after luscious streak in long recession down the work tables.

“And this,” said the Director opening the door, “is the Fertilizing Room.”

Bent over their instruments, three hundred Fertilizers were plunged, as the Director of Hatcheries and Conditioning entered the room, in the scarcely breathing silence. A few newly arrived students, very young and callow, followed nervously at the Director’s heels. Each of them carried a notebook. The D. H. C. for Central London always made a point of personally conducting his new students round the various departments.

“Just to give you a general idea,” he would explain to them. For of course some sort of general idea they must have, if they were to do their work intelligently, if they were to be good and happy members of society.

“Tomorrow,” he would add, smiling at them in a slightly menacing way, “you’ll be settling down to serious work. You won’t have time for generalities. Meanwhile…”

Meanwhile, it was a privilege. The boys scribbled like mad.

The Director advanced into the room. Tall and rather thin, he had a long chin and big rather prominent teeth. Old, young? Thirty? Fifty? Fifty-five? It was hard to say. And in this year of stability, A.F.632, it didn’t occur to you to ask this question anyway.

“I shall begin at the beginning,” said the D.H.C. “These are the incubators.” And opening an insulated door he showed them racks upon racks of numbered test-tubes. “The week’s supply of ova. Kept at blood heat[1]. The male gametes,” and here he opened another door, “they have to be kept at thirty-five instead of thirty-seven. Full blood heat sterilizes.”

He gave them a brief description of the modern fertilizing process; spoke first, of course, of its surgical introduction; continued with the technique for preserving the ovary alive and actively developing; referred to the liquor in which the eggs were kept; and, leading the students to the work tables, actually showed them how this liquor was drawn off from the test-tubes and was let out drop by drop onto the specially warmed slides of the microscopes; how the eggs which it contained were inspected for abnormalities, counted and transferred to a porous receptacle; how this receptacle was immersed in a warm solution containing free-swimming spermatozoa; and how, after ten minutes, the container was lifted out of the liquor; where the Alphas and Betas remained until definitely bottled; while the Gammas, Deltas and Epsilons were brought out again, after only thirty-six hours, to undergo Bokanovsky’s Process[2].

“Bokanovsky’s Process,” repeated the Director, and the students underlined the words in their little notebooks.

One egg, one embryo, one adult. But a bokanovskified egg[3] will bud, will proliferate, will divide. From eight to ninety-six buds, and every bud will grow into an embryo, and every embryo into a full-sized adult. Making ninety-six human beings grow where only one grew before. Progress.

“Essentially,” the D.H.C. concluded, “the process consists of a series of arrests of development[4].”

He pointed. On a very slowly moving band a rack-full of test-tubes was entering a large metal box, and another rack-full was emerging. It took eight minutes for the tubes to go through, he told them. Eight minutes of hard X-rays. A few eggs died. The rest were returned to the incubators, where they began to develop. In the end, one egg was on its way to becoming anything from eight to ninety-six embryos-an improvement on nature. Identical twins-but not in twos and threes as in the old days, when an egg would sometimes accidentally divide, but in dozens at a time.

One of the students was fool enough to ask where the advantage was.

“My good boy! Can’t you see? Can’t you see?” He raised a hand; his expression was solemn. “Bokanovsky’s Process is one of the major instruments of social stability!”

Standard men and women; in uniform batches. The whole of a small factory staffed with the products of a single bokanovskified egg.

“Ninety-six identical twins working ninety-six identical machines!” The director’s voice was very enthusiastic. “You really know where you are. For the first time in history. ‘Community, Identity, Stability.’ If we could bokanovskify[5] indefinitely the whole problem would be solved.”

Solved by standard Gammas, unvarying Deltas, uniform Epsilons. Millions of identical twins.

“But, alas,” the Director shook his head, “we can’t bokanovskify indefinitely.”

Ninety-six seemed to be the limit; seventy-two a good average. From the same ovary and with gametes of the same male that was the best that they could do. And even that was difficult.

“In nature it takes thirty years for two hundred eggs to reach maturity. But our business is to stabilize the population at this moment, here and now. Producing twins for over a quarter of a century-what would be the use of that?”

Obviously, no use at all.

“And in exceptional cases we can make one ovary help produce over fifteen thousand adult individuals.”

Beckoning to a fair-haired young man who happened to be passing at the moment. “Mr. Foster,” he called. The ruddy young man approached. “Can you tell us the record for a single ovary, Mr. Foster?”

“Sixteen thousand and twelve in this Centre,” Mr. Foster replied without hesitation. “Singapore has often produced over sixteen thousand five hundred; and Mombasa has reached the seventeen thousand mark once. Still, we mean to beat them if we can. I’m working on a wonderful Delta-Minus ovary at this moment. Going strong. We’ll beat them yet.”

“That’s the spirit I like!” cried the Director, and clapped Mr. Foster on the shoulder. “Come along with us, and tell these boys more.”

Mr. Foster smiled modestly. “With pleasure.” They went.

The Bottling Room was bustling with ordered activity. Pieces of fresh peritoneum ready to be cut came up in little lifts from the Organ Store in the sub-basement. Once the lift-hatches flew open the Bottle-Liner had only to reach out, take the flap, insert, smooth down, and then another flap of peritoneum appeared, ready to be slipped into yet another bottle.

One by one the eggs were transferred from their test-tubes to the larger containers. Then the peritoneal lining was slit, the morula dropped into place, the saline solution poured in. Then it was the turn of the labellers. Heredity, date of fertilization, membership of Bokanovsky Group-details were transferred from test-tube to bottle. Then the bottles travelled further to the Social Predestination Room.

“Eighty-eight cubic metres of card-index,” said Mr. Foster, as they entered.

“Containing all the relevant information,” added the Director. “On the basis of which they make their calculations.”

“So many individuals, of such and such quality,” said Mr. Foster.

“The Predestinators send in their figures to the Fertilizers.”

“Who give them the embryos they ask for.”

“And the bottles come in here to be predestined in detail.”

“After which they are sent down to the Embryo Store.”

“Where we now proceed ourselves.”

And opening a door Mr. Foster led the way down a staircase into the basement.

The temperature below was still tropical. Two doors and a passage with a double turn insured the cellar against any possible infiltration.

“Embryos are like photograph film,” said Mr. Foster, as he pushed open the second door. “They can only stand red light[6].”

The sultry darkness here was visible and crimson, like the darkness of closed eyes on a summer’s afternoon. Row upon row and tier above tier of bottles glinted like rubies, and among the rubies moved men and women with purple eyes and all the symptoms of lupus. There was a hum and rattle of machinery in the air.

“Give them a few figures, Mr. Foster,” said the Director, who was tired of talking.

Two hundred and twenty metres long, two hundred wide, ten high. He pointed upwards. The students lifted their eyes towards the distant ceiling.

Three tiers of racks: ground floor level, first gallery, second gallery. Near them three red ghosts were unloading bottles from a moving staircase. Each bottle could be placed on one of fifteen racks. Each rack was a conveyor traveling at the rate of thirty-three and a third centimetres an hour[7]. Two hundred and sixty-seven days at eight metres a day. One round of the cellar at ground level, one on the first gallery, half on the second, and on the two hundred and sixty-seventh morning, sent to the Decanting Room. Independent existence-so called.

“But in that time,” Mr. Foster concluded, “we’ve managed to do a lot to them.”

“That’s the spirit I like,” said the Director once more. “Let’s walk around. You tell them everything, Mr. Foster.”

Mr. Foster duly told them.

Told them of the growing embryo on its bed of peritoneum. Explained why it had to be stimulated with drugs. Described the artificial circulation installed in every bottle. Showed them the simple mechanism that shook the embryos into familiarity with movement. Told them about the “trauma of decanting,” and the test for sex taking place in the neighborhood of Metre 200. Explained the system of labelling-a T for the males, a circle for the females and for those who were destined to become freemartins a question mark, black on a white ground.

“One fertile ovary in twelve hundred-that would really be enough for our purposes,” said Mr. Foster. “But we want to have a good choice. And we must always have an enormous margin of safety. So we allow as many as thirty per cent of the female embryos to develop normally. The others get a dose of male sex-hormone every twenty-four metres for the rest of the course. Result: they’re guaranteed sterile. Which brings us at last,” continued Mr. Foster, “to the much more interesting human invention.” He rubbed his hands. “We also predestine and condition. We decant our babies as Alphas or Epsilons, as future sewage workers or future…” He was going to say “future World controllers,” but corrected himself “… future Directors of Hatcheries.” instead.

They were passing Metre 320 on Rack 11. A young Beta-Minus mechanic was busy with screw-driver and spanner on the blood-surrogate pump of a passing bottle. The hum of the electric motor deepened the more he turned the nuts. A final twist and he was done. He moved two paces down the line and began doing the same on the next pump.

“Reducing the number of revolutions per minute,” Mr. Foster explained. “The surrogate goes round slower; therefore passes through the lung at longer intervals; therefore gives the embryo less oxygen.”

“But why do you want to do that?” asked a student.

“Ass![8]” said the Director. “Hasn’t it occurred to you that an Epsilon embryo must have an Epsilon environment as well as an Epsilon heredity?”

It evidently hadn’t occurred to him. He looked confused.

“The lower the caste,” said Mr. Foster, “the shorter the oxygen.” The first organ affected was the brain. After that the skeleton. At seventy per cent of normal oxygen you got dwarfs. At less than seventy eyeless monsters.

“Who are no use at all,” concluded Mr. Foster. “In Epsilons, we don’t need human intelligence.”

Didn’t need and didn’t get it. But though the Epsilon mind was mature at ten, the Epsilon body was not fit to work till eighteen. If the physical development could be speeded up till it was as quick, say, as a cow’s, what an enormous saving to the Community!

“Enormous!” murmured the students. Mr. Foster’s enthusiasm was infectious.

He became rather technical; spoke of the abnormality which made men grow so slowly; postulated a mutation to account for it[9]. Could the effects of this mutation be undone? Could the individual Epsilon embryo be reverted to the normality of dogs and cows? That was the problem.

Their wanderings had brought them to the neighborhood of Metre 170 on Rack 9. From this point onwards Rack 9 was enclosed and the bottle spent the remainder of their journey in a kind of tunnel, interrupted here and there by openings two or three metres wide.

“Heat conditioning,” said Mr. Foster.

Hot tunnels alternated with cool tunnels. Cold tunnels also produced hard X-rays. By the time they were decanted the embryos had a horror of cold. They were predestined to emigrate to the tropics, to be silk spinners and steel workers. “We condition them to thrive on heat,” concluded Mr. Foster.

“And that,” said the Director, “that is the secret of happiness and virtue-liking what you’ve got to do. We aim at that: making people like their unescapable social destiny.”

In a gap between two tunnels, a nurse was delicately probing with a long fine syringe into the contents of passing bottles.

“Well, Lenina,” said Mr. Foster.

The girl turned with a start. One could see that, for all the lupus and the purple eyes, she was very pretty.

“Henry!”

“What are you giving them?” asked Mr. Foster, making his tone very professional.

“Oh, the usual typhoid and sleeping sickness.”

“Tropical workers start being inoculated at Metre 150,” Mr. Foster explained to the students. Then, turning back to Lenina, “Ten to five on the roof this afternoon,” he said, “as usual.”

On Rack 10 rows of next generation’s chemical workers were being trained in the toleration of lead, caustic soda, tar, chlorine. The first of a batch of two hundred and fifty rocket-plane engineers was just passing the eleven hundred metre mark on Rack 3. A special mechanism kept their containers in constant rotation. “To improve their sense of balance,” Mr. Foster explained.

“And now,” Mr. Foster went on, “I’d like to show you some very interesting conditioning for Alpha Plus Intellectuals. We have a big batch of them on Rack 5. They’re round about Metre 900. You can’t really do any useful intellectual conditioning till the fetuses have lost their tails. Follow me.”

But the Director had looked at his watch. “Ten to three,” he said. “No time for the intellectual embryos, I’m afraid. We must go up to the Nurseries before the children have finished their afternoon sleep.”

“At least one glance at the Decanting Room,” pleaded Mr. Foster.

“Very well then.” The Director smiled. “Just one glance.”

Chapter Two

Mr. Foster was left in the Decanting Room. The D.H.C. and his students stepped into the nearest lift and were carried up to the fifth floor.

INFANT NURSERIES. NEO-PAVLOVIAN CONDITIONING ROOMS, announced the notice board.

The Director opened a door. They were in a large bare room, very bright and sunny. Half a dozen nurses were setting out bowls of roses[10] in a long row across the floor. Thousands of petals, silkily smooth.

The nurses stiffened to attention[11] as the D.H.C. came in.

“Set out the books,” he said curtly.

In silence the nurses obeyed his command and set out nursery book in between the bowls, each opened at a colourful image of beast or fish or bird.

“Now bring in the children.”

They hurried out of the room and returned in a minute or two, each pushing a kind of tall dumb-waiter with eight-month-old babies, all exactly alike and all dressed in khaki.

“Put them down on the floor.”

The infants were unloaded.

“Now turn them so that they can see the flowers and books.”

Turned, the babies at once fell silent, then began to crawl towards those clusters of colours. Babies squealed with excitement.

The Director rubbed his hands. “Excellent!” he said.

The swiftest crawlers were already at their goal. Small hands touched, grasped, the roses and the books. The Director waited until all were happily busy. Then, “Watch carefully,” he said. And, lifting his hand, he gave the signal.

The Head Nurse, who was standing by a switchboard at the other end of the room, pressed down a little lever.

There was a violent explosion. A siren shrieked. Alarm bells rang.

The children started, screamed; their faces were distorted with terror.

“And now,” the Director shouted (for the noise was deafening), “now we proceed to rub in the lesson with a mild electric shock.”

He waved his hand again, and the Head Nurse pressed a second lever. The screaming of the babies suddenly changed its tone. There was something desperate, almost insane, about their sharp yelps. Their little bodies twitched, their limbs jerked as if to the tug of unseen wires[12].

“We can electrify that whole strip of floor,” explained the Director. “But that’s enough,” he signaled to the nurse.

The explosions ceased, the bells stopped ringing, the shriek of the siren died down. The little bodies relaxed, and yelping turned into a normal cry of ordinary terror.

“Offer them the flowers and the books again.”

The nurses obeyed; but at the sight of the flowers and the colourful books, the infants shrank away in horror, the volume of their crying increased.

“Observe,” said the Director triumphantly, “observe.”

Books and loud noises, flowers and electric shocks-already in the infant mind they were linked.

“They’ll grow up with what the psychologists used to call an ‘instinctive’ hatred of books and flowers. They’ll be safe from books and botany all their lives.” The Director turned to his nurses. “Take them away again.”

Still yelling, the khaki babies were loaded on to their dumb-waiters and wheeled out.

One of the students held up his hand; he could see quite well why you couldn’t have lower-caste people wasting time on books, he couldn’t understand about the flowers. Why go to the trouble of making it psychologically impossible for Deltas to like flowers?

Patiently the D.H.C. explained. If the children were made to scream at the sight of a rose, that was on grounds of high economic policy. Not so very long ago, Gammas, Deltas, even Epsilons, had been conditioned to like flowers-flowers in particular and wild nature in general. The idea was to make them want to go out into the country, and so compel them to consume transport[13].

“And didn’t they consume transport?” asked the student.

“Quite a lot,” the D.H.C. replied. “But nothing else.”

Primroses and landscapes, he pointed out, have one defect: they are gratuitous. A love of nature keeps no factories busy. It was decided to abolish the love of nature, at any rate among the lower classes; but to keep the tendency to consume transport.

“We condition the masses to hate the country,” concluded the Director. “But simultaneously we condition them to love all country sports. At the same time, we see to it[14] that all country sports shall entail the use of elaborate apparatus. So that they consume manufactured articles as well as transport.”

“I see,” said the student, lost in admiration.

There was a silence; then, clearing his throat, “Once upon a time,” the Director began, “while our Ford was still on earth, there was a little boy called Reuben Rabinovitch. Reuben was the child of Polish-speaking parents.” The Director interrupted himself. “You know what Polish is, I suppose?”

“A dead language.”

“And ‘parent’?” questioned the D.H.C.

There was an uneasy silence. Several of the boys blushed. They had not yet learned to draw the distinction between smut and pure science. One, at last, had the courage to raise a hand.

“Human beings used to be…” he hesitated; the blood rushed to his cheeks. “Well, they used to be viviparous.”

“Quite right.” The Director nodded approvingly.

“And when the babies were decanted…”

“‘Born,’” came the correction.

“Well, then they were the parents-I mean, not the babies, of course; the other ones.” The poor boy was overwhelmed with confusion.

“In brief,” the Director summed up, “the parents were the father and the mother. These,” he said gravely, “are unpleasant facts; I know it. But then most historical facts are unpleasant.”

He returned to Little Reuben-to Little Reuben, in whose room, one evening, by an oversight, his father and mother happened to leave the radio turned on.

While the child was asleep, a broadcast programme from London suddenly started to come through; and the next morning Little Reuben woke up repeating word for word a long lecture by George Bernard Shaw. To Little Reuben this lecture was, of course, incomprehensible and, imagining that their child had suddenly gone mad, the parents sent for a doctor. He, fortunately, understood English, recognized the discourse as that which Shaw had broadcasted the previous evening, realized the significance of what had happened, and sent a letter to the medical press about it.

“The principle of sleep-teaching, or hypnopaedia, had been discovered.” The D.H.C. made an impressive pause.

“The case of Little Reuben occurred only twenty-three years after Our Ford’s first T-Model was put on the market. And yet these early experimenters were on the wrong track. They thought that hypnopaedia could be made an instrument of intellectual education…”

(A small boy asleep on his right side. Through a round grating in the side of a box a voice speaks softly.

“The Nile is the longest river in Africa and the second in length of all the rivers of the globe. Although falling short of the length of the Mississippi-Missouri…”

At breakfast the next morning, “Tommy,” someone says, “do you know which is the longest river in Africa?” A shaking of the head. “But don’t you remember something that begins: The Nile is the…”

“The-Nile-is-the-longest-river-in-Africa-and-the-second-in-length-of-all-the-rivers-of-the-globe…” The words come rushing out. “Although-falling-short-of…”

“Well now, which is the longest river in Africa?”

The eyes are blank. “I don’t know.”

“But the Nile, Tommy.”

“The-Nile-is-the-longest-river-in-Africa-and-second…”

“Then which river is the longest, Tommy?”

Tommy burst into tears. “I don’t know,” he cries.)

That discouraged the earliest investigators. The experiments were abandoned. No further attempt was made to teach children the length of the Nile in their sleep. You can’t learn a science unless you know what it’s all about.

“Whereas, if they’d only started on moral education,” said the Director, leading the way towards the door. The students followed him. “Moral education, which ought never, in any circumstances, to be rational.”

“Silence, silence,” whispered a loud speaker as they stepped out at the fourteenth floor. The students and even the Director himself rose automatically to the tips of their toes. They were Alphas, of course, but even Alphas have been well conditioned.

Fifty yards of tiptoeing brought them to a door which the Director cautiously opened. Eighty cots stood in a row against the wall. There was a sound of light regular breathing and a continuous murmur.

A nurse rose as they entered and came to the Director.

“What’s the lesson this afternoon?” he asked.

“We had Elementary Sex for the first forty minutes,” she answered. “But now it’s switched over to Elementary Class Consciousness.”

Eighty little boys and girls lay softly breathing. There was a whisper under every pillow. The D.H.C. stopped and, bending over one of the little beds, listened attentively.

“Elementary Class Consciousness, did you say? Let’s have it repeated a little louder by the trumpet.”

At the end of the room was a speaker. The Director walked up to it and pressed a switch.

“… all wear green,” said a soft but very distinct voice, beginning in the middle of a sentence, “and Delta Children wear khaki. I don’t want to play with Delta children. And Epsilons are still worse. They’re too stupid to be able to read or write. I’m so glad I’m a Beta.”

There was a pause; then the voice began again.

“Alpha children wear grey. They work much harder than we do, because they’re so clever. I’m really awfully glad I’m a Beta, because I don’t work so hard. And we are much better than the Gammas and Deltas. Gammas are stupid. They all wear green, and Delta children wear khaki. I don’t want to play with Delta children. And Epsilons are still worse. They’re too stupid to be able…”

The Director pushed back the switch.

“They’ll have that repeated forty or fifty times more before they wake; then again on Thursday, and again on Saturday. After that they go on to a more advanced lesson.”

Once more the Director touched the switch.

“… so clever,” the soft voice was saying, “I’m really awfully glad I’m a Beta, because…”

“Till at last the child’s mind is these suggestions, and the suggestions are the child’s mind. And the adult’s mind too-all his life long. These are suggestions from the State.” He banged the nearest table. “It therefore follows…”

A noise made him turn round.

“Oh, Ford!” he said in another tone, “I’ve woken the children.”

Chapter Three

Outside, in the garden, it was playtime. Six or seven hundred of naked little boys and girls were running with shrill yells over the lawns, or playing ball games, or squatting silently in twos and threes among the flowering shrubs. The air was drowsy with the murmur of bees and helicopters.

“That’s a charming little group,” said the Director, pointing.

In a little grassy bay two children, a little boy of about seven and a little girl who might have been a year older, were playing, very gravely and with all the focused attention of scientists intent on a labour of discovery, a rudimentary sexual game.

From a neighbouring shrubbery emerged a nurse, leading by the hand a small boy, who cried as he went. An anxious-looking little girl followed them.

“What’s the matter?” asked the Director.

The nurse shrugged her shoulders. “Nothing much,” she answered. “This little boy seems rather reluctant to join in the ordinary erotic play. I’d noticed it once or twice before. And now again today. He started yelling just now…”

“I didn’t mean to hurt him or anything. Honestly,” said the anxious-looking little girl.

“Of course you didn’t, dear,” said the nurse reassuringly. She turned back to the Director. “I’m taking him to see the Assistant Superintendent of Psychology. Just to see if anything’s at all abnormal.”

“Quite right,” said the Director. “Take him. You stay here, little girl,” he added, as the nurse and the boy walked away. “What’s your name?”

“Polly Trotsky.”

“Run away now and see if you can find some other little boy to play with.”

The child scampered off into the bushes and was lost to sight[15].

The Director turned to his students. “What I’m going to tell you now,” he said, “may sound incredible. But then, when you’re not accustomed to history, most facts about the past do.”

He let out the amazing truth. For a very long period before the time of Our Ford, and even for some generations afterwards, erotic play between children had been regarded as abnormal (there was a roar of laughter); and not only abnormal, actually immoral (no!); and had therefore been rigorously suppressed.

An astonished look appeared on the faces of his listeners. They could not believe it.

“Even adolescents,” the D.H.C. was saying, “even adolescents like yourselves…”

“Not possible! Nothing?”

“In most cases, till they were over twenty years old.”

“Twenty years old?” echoed the students in disbelief.

“I told you that you’d find it incredible.”

“But what happened?” they asked. “What were the results?”

“The results were terrible.” A deep resonant voice broke startlingly into the dialogue.

They looked around. On the side stood a stranger-a man of middle height, black-haired, with a hooked nose, full red lips, eyes very piercing and dark.

The D.H.C. darted forward, his hand outstretched, smiling with all his teeth.

“Controller! What an unexpected pleasure! Boys, what are you thinking of? This is the Controller; this is his fordship, Mustapha Mond.”

The clock struck four. Voices called from the trumpet mouths.

“Main Day-shift off duty. Second Day-shift take over. Main Day-shift off…”

In the lift, on their way up to the changing rooms, Henry Foster and the Assistant Director of Predestination rather pointedly[16] turned their backs on Bernard Marx from the Psychology Bureau.

Despite the change between shifts, machinery was still humming in the Embryo Store. The conveyors crept forward with their load of future men and women no matter what.

Lenina Crowne walked briskly towards the door.

His fordship Mustapha Mond! The eyes of the students almost popped out of their heads. Mustapha Mond! The Resident Controller for Western Europe! One of the Ten World Controllers. One of the Ten… and he was going to stay, to stay, yes, and actually talk to them… straight from the horse’s mouth. Straight from the mouth of Ford himself.

“You all remember,” said the Controller, in his strong deep voice, “you all remember, I suppose, that beautiful saying of Our Ford’s: History is bunk. History,” he repeated slowly, “is bunk.”

He waved his hand; and it was as though, with an invisible feather whisk, he had brushed away a little dust, and the dust was Harappa, was Ur of the Chaldees; some spider-webs, and they were Thebes and Babylon and Cnossos and Mycenae. Whisk. Whisk-and where was Odysseus, where was Job, where was Jesus? Whisk-and those specks of antique dirt called Athens and Rome, Jerusalem and the Middle Kingdom-all were gone. Whisk-the place where Italy had been was empty. Whisk, the cathedrals; whisk, whisk, King Lear and the Thoughts of Pascal. Whisk, Passion; whisk, Requiem; whisk, Symphony; whisk…

“Going to the Feelies this evening, Henry?” enquired the Assistant Predestinator. “I hear the new one at the Alhambra is great. There’s a love scene on a bearskin rug. Every hair of the bear reproduced. The most amazing tactual effects.”

“That’s why you’re taught no history,” the Controller was saying. “But now the time has come…”

The D.H.C. looked at him nervously.

Mustapha Mond intercepted his anxious glance and the corners of his red lips twitched ironically.

“It’s all right, Director,” he said in a tone of faint derision, “I won’t corrupt them.”

The D.H.C. was overwhelmed with confusion.

Those who feel themselves despised do well to look despising[17]. The smile on Bernard Marx’s face was contemptuous. Every hair on the bear indeed!

“I shall make a point of going,” said Henry Foster.

Mustapha Mond leaned forward, shook a finger at them. “Just try to realize it,” he said. “Try to realize what it was like to have a viviparous mother.”

That smutty word again. But none of them smiled this time.

“Try to imagine what ‘living with one’s family’ meant.”

They tried; obviously without success.

“And do you know what a ‘home’ was?”

They shook their heads.

Lenina Crowne opened the door marked GIRLS’ DRESSING-ROOM and walked into a deafening chaos of arms and bosoms and underclothing.

“Hullo, Fanny,” said she to the young woman who had the locker next to hers.

Fanny worked in the Bottling Room, and her surname was also Crowne. But as the two thousand million inhabitants of the plant had only ten thousand names between them, the coincidence was not particularly surprising.

Lenina pulled at her zippers-downwards on the jacket, downwards at the two that held trousers, downwards again to loosen her undergarment. Still wearing her shoes and stockings, she walked off towards the bathrooms.

Home, home-a few small rooms, stiflingly over-inhabited by people. No air, no space; a prison; darkness, disease, and smells.

(The Controller’s description was so vivid that one of the boys, more sensitive than the rest, turned pale at the mere description and was on the point of being sick.)

Lenina got out of the bath and toweled herself dry. Eight different scents and eau-de-cologne were laid on in little taps over the wash-basin. She turned on the third from the left, dabbed herself with chypre and, carrying her shoes and stockings in her hand, went out to see if one of the vibro-vacuum machines were free.

And home was as squalid psychically as possible. Psychically, it was a rabbit hole, hot with the frictions of tightly packed life, reeking with emotion. Maniacally, the mother brooded over her children (her children)… like a cat over its kittens; “My baby, my baby,” over and over again. “My baby, and oh, oh, at my breast, the little hands, the hunger! Till at last my baby sleeps, my baby sleeps with a bubble of white milk at the corner of his mouth. My little baby sleeps…”

“Yes,” said Mustapha Mond, nodding his head, “you may well shudder[18].”

“Who are you going out with tonight?” Lenina asked, returning from the vibro-vac.

“Nobody.”

Lenina raised her eyebrows in astonishment.

“I’ve been feeling rather out of sorts[19] lately,” Fanny explained. “Dr. Wells advised me to have a Pregnancy Substitute.”

“But you’re only nineteen. The first Pregnancy Substitute isn’t compulsory till twenty-one.”

“I know, dear. But some people are better if they begin earlier.” She opened the door of her locker and pointed to the row of boxes and labelled phials on the upper shelf.

“SYRUP OF CORPUS LUTEUM,” Lenina read the names aloud. “OVARIN, GUARANTEED FRESH: NOT TO BE USED AFTER AUGUST 1ST, A.F. 632. MAMMARY GLAND EXTRACT: TO BE TAKEN THREE TIMES DAILY, BEFORE MEALS, WITH A LITTLE WATER. PLACENTIN: 5cc TO BE INJECTED INTRAVENALLY EVERY THIRD DAY… Ugh!” Lenina shuddered. “How I loathe intravenals, don’t you?”

“Yes. But when they do one good…” Fanny was a particularly sensible girl.

Our Ford-or Our Freud, as, for some reason, he chose to call himself whenever he spoke of psychological matters-had been the first to reveal the appalling dangers of family life.

“Extremes,” said the Controller, “meet. For the good reason that they were made to meet.”

“Dr. Wells says that a three months’ Pregnancy Substitute will make all the difference to my health for the next three or four years.”

“Well, I hope he’s right,” said Lenina. “But, Fanny, do you really mean to say that for the next three months you’re not supposed to…”

“Oh no, dear. Only for a week or two, that’s all. I suppose you’re going out?”

Lenina nodded.

“Who with?”

“Henry Foster.”

“Again?” Fanny’s face took on an expression of pained and disapproving astonishment. “Do you mean to tell me you’re still going out with Henry Foster?”

Mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters. But there were also husbands, wives, lovers. There were also monogamy and romance.

“Though you probably don’t know what those are,” said Mustapha Mond.

They shook their heads.

Family, monogamy, romance. Everywhere exclusiveness.

“But everyone belongs to everyone else,” he concluded, citing the hypnopaedic proverb.

The students nodded, agreeing with a statement which upwards of sixty-two thousand repetitions in the dark had made them accept as self-evident and utterly indisputable.

“But after all,” Lenina was protesting, “it’s only about four months now since I’ve been having Henry.”

“Only four months! And there’s been nobody else except Henry all that time. Has there?”

Lenina blushed scarlet. “No, there hasn’t been anyone else,” she answered. “And I jolly well don’t see why there should have been.”

“Oh, she jolly well doesn’t see why there should have been,” Fanny repeated. Then, with a sudden change of tone, “But seriously,” she said, “I really do think you ought to be careful. At forty, or thirty-five, it wouldn’t be so bad. But at your age, Lenina! And you know how strongly the D.H.C. objects to anything intense or long-drawn. Four months of Henry Foster, without having another man-why, he’d be furious if he knew…”

Mother, monogamy, romance. The urge has but a single outlet. My love, my baby. No wonder these poor pre-moderns were mad and wicked and miserable. Their world didn’t allow them to take things easily, didn’t allow them to be sane, virtuous, happy. What with mothers and lovers, what with the prohibitions they were not conditioned to obey, what with the temptations and the lonely remorses, what with all the diseases and the endless isolating pain, what with the uncertainties and the poverty-they were forced to feel strongly. And feeling strongly, how could they be stable?

“Of course there’s no need to give him up. Have somebody else from time to time, that’s all. He has other girls, doesn’t he?”

Lenina admitted it.

“Of course he does. Trust Henry Foster to be the perfect gentleman. And then there’s the Director to think of. You know what a stickler…”

Nodding, “He patted me on the behind this afternoon,” said Lenina.

“There, you see!” Fanny was triumphant. “That shows what he stands for. The strictest conventionality.”

“Stability,” said the Controller. “No civilization without social stability. No social stability without individual stability.” His voice was a trumpet.

The machine turns, turns and must keep on turning-forever. It is death if it stands still. Wheels must turn steadily, but cannot turn untended. There must be men to tend them, men as steady as the wheels upon their axles, sane men, obedient men.

Crying, screaming with pain, muttering with fever, bemoaning old age and poverty-how can they tend the wheels? And if they cannot tend the wheels…

“And after all,” Fanny’s tone was coaxing, “it’s not as though there were anything painful or disagreeable about having one or two men besides Henry. And seeing that you ought to be a little more promiscuous…”

“Stability,” insisted the Controller, “stability. The primal and the ultimate need. Stability. Hence all this.”

With a wave of his hand he indicated the gardens, the huge building of the Conditioning Centre, the naked children running across the lawns.

Lenina shook her head. “I hadn’t been feeling very keen on promiscuity lately. There are times when one doesn’t. Haven’t you found that too, Fanny?”

Fanny nodded her sympathy and understanding. “But one’s got to make the effort,” she said. “One’s got to play the game. After all, everyone belongs to everyone else.”

“Yes, everyone belongs to everyone else,” Lenina repeated slowly and, sighing, was silent for a moment; then, taking Fanny’s hand, gave it a little squeeze. “You’re quite right, Fanny. As usual. I’ll make the effort.”

Impulse arrested spills over, and the flood is feeling, the flood is passion, the flood is even madness. The unchecked stream flows smoothly down its appointed channels into a calm well-being.

“Fortunate boys!” said the Controller. “No pains have been spared to make your lives emotionally easy-to preserve you from having emotions at all.”

“Ford’s in his flivver,” murmured the D.H.C. “All’s well with the world.”

“Lenina Crowne?” said Henry Foster, echoing the Assistant Predestinator’s question. “Oh, she’s a splendid girl. I’m surprised you haven’t had her.”

“I can’t think how it is I haven’t,” said the Assistant Predestinator. “I certainly will. At the first opportunity.”

From his place on the opposite side of the changing-room aisle, Bernard Marx overheard what they were saying and turned pale.

“And to tell the truth,” said Lenina, “I’m beginning to get just a tiny bit bored with nothing but Henry every day.” She pulled on her left stocking. “Do you know Bernard Marx?”

Fanny looked startled. “You don’t mean to say…?”

“Why not? Bernard’s an Alpha Plus. Besides, he asked me to go to one of the Savage Reservations with him. I’ve always wanted to see a Savage Reservation.”

“But his reputation?”

“What do I care about his reputation?”

“They say he doesn’t like Obstacle Golf.”

“They say, they say,” mocked Lenina.

“And then he spends most of his time by himself-alone.” There was horror in Fanny’s voice.

“Well, he won’t be alone when he’s with me. And why are people so beastly to him? I think he’s rather sweet.” She smiled to herself; how absurdly shy he had been! Frightened almost-as though she were a World Controller.

“Consider your own lives,” said Mustapha Mond. “Has any of you ever encountered an insurmountable obstacle?”

The question was answered by a negative silence.

“Has any of you ever had to live through a long time-interval between the consciousness of a desire and its fulfillment[20]?”

“Well,” began one of the boys, and hesitated.

“Speak up,” said the D.H.C.

“I once had to wait nearly four weeks before a girl I wanted would let me have her.”

“And you felt a strong emotion in consequence?”

“Horrible!”

“Horrible; precisely,” said the Controller.

“Talking about her as though she is a bit of meat.” Bernard ground his teeth. “Have her here, have her there… She said she’d think it over, she said she’d give me an answer this week. Oh, Ford, Ford, Ford.” He would have liked to go up to them and hit them in the face-again and again.

“Yes, I really do advise you to try her,” Henry Foster was saying.

“Take Ectogenesis. Pfitzner and Kawaguchi had got the whole technique worked out. But would the Governments look at it? No. There was something called Christianity. Women were forced to go on being viviparous.”

“He’s so ugly!” said Fanny.

“But I rather like his looks.”

“And then so small.” Fanny made a grimace.

“I think that’s rather sweet,” said Lenina.

Fanny was shocked. “They say somebody made a mistake when he was still in the bottle-thought he was a Gamma and put alcohol into his blood-surrogate. That’s why he’s so stunted.”

“What nonsense!” Lenina was indignant.

“Sleep teaching was actually prohibited in England. There was something called liberalism. Parliament, if you know what that was, passed a law against it. The records survive. Speeches about liberty of the subject. Liberty to be inefficient and miserable.”

“You’re welcome, I assure you. You’re welcome.”

Henry Foster patted the Assistant Predestinator on the shoulder. “Everyone belongs to everyone else, after all.”

One hundred repetitions three nights a week for four years, thought Bernard Marx, who was a specialist on hypnopaedia. Sixty-two thousand four hundred repetitions make one truth. Idiots!

“Or the Caste System. Constantly proposed, constantly rejected. There was something called democracy.”

“Well, all I can say is that I’m going to accept his invitation.”

Bernard hated them, hated them. But they were two, they were large, they were strong.

“The Nine Years’ War began in A.F. 141.”

“Not even if it were true about the alcohol in his blood-surrogate.”

“Phosgene, chloropicrin, ethyl iodoacetate, diphenylcyanarsine, trichlormethyl, chloroformate, dichlorethyl sulphide. Not to mention hydrocyanic acid.”

“Which I simply don’t believe,” Lenina concluded.

“The noise of fourteen thousand aeroplanes advancing in open order.”

“Because I do want to see a Savage Reservation.”

CH₃C₆H₂(NO₂)₃+Hg(CNO)₂=well, what? An enormous hole in the ground, a pile of masonry, some bits of flesh and mucus, a foot, with the boot still on it, flying through the air and landing, flop, in the middle of the geraniums!

“You’re hopeless, Lenina, I give up.”

“The Russian technique for infecting water supplies was particularly ingenious.”

Back turned to back, Fanny and Lenina continued their changing in silence.

“The Nine Years’ War, the great Economic Collapse. There was a choice between World Control and destruction. Between stability and…”

“Fanny Crowne’s a nice girl too,” said the Assistant Predestinator.

In the nurseries, the Elementary Class Consciousness lesson was over, the voices were adapting future demand to future industrial supply. “I do love flying,” they whispered, “I do love flying, I do love having new clothes, I do love…”

“Liberalism, of course, was dead of anthrax, but all the same you couldn’t do things by force.”

“Not nearly so as Lenina. Oh, not nearly.”

“But old clothes are beastly,” continued the whisper. “We always throw away old clothes. Ending is better than mending[21], ending is better than mending, ending is better…”

“Government’s an affair of sitting, not hitting. You rule with the brains and the buttocks, never with the fists. For example, there was the conscription of consumption.”

“There, I’m ready,” said Lenina, but Fanny remained speechless. “Let’s make peace, Fanny, darling.”

“Every man, woman and child compelled to consume so much a year. In the interests of industry. The sole result…”

“Ending is better than mending. The more stitches, the less riches; the more stitches…”

“One of these days,” said Fanny, “you’ll get into trouble.”

“Objection on an enormous scale. Anything not to consume. Back to nature.”

“I do love flying. I do love flying.”

“Back to culture. Yes, actually to culture. You can’t consume much if you sit still and read books.”

“Do I look all right?” Lenina asked. Her jacket was made of bottle green acetate cloth with green viscose fur; at the cuffs and collar.

“Eight hundred people were mowed down by machine guns at Golders Green.”

“Ending is better than mending, ending is better than mending.”

Green corduroy shorts and white stockings turned down below the knee.

“Then came the famous British Museum Massacre. Two thousand culture fans gassed with dichlorethyl sulphide.”

A green-and-white jockey cap; bright-green, highly polished shoes.

“In the end,” said Mustapha Mond, “the Controllers realized that force was no good. The slower methods of ectogenesis, neo-Pavlovian conditioning and hypnopaedia…”

And round her waist she wore a green morocco-surrogate cartridge belt, bulging with the regulation supply of contraceptives.

“The discoveries of Pfitzner and Kawaguchi were at last made use of. An intensive propaganda against viviparous reproduction…”

“Perfect!” cried Fanny enthusiastically. She could never resist Lenina’s charm for long. “And what a perfectly sweet Malthusian belt!”

“Accompanied by a campaign against the Past; by the closing of museums, the blowing up of historical monuments; by the suppression of all books published before A.F. 150.”

“I simply must get one like it,” said Fanny.

“There were some things called the pyramids, for example.”

“My old black-patent bandolier…”

“And a man called Shakespeare. You’ve never heard of them of course.”

“It’s an absolute disgrace-that bandolier of mine.”

“Such are the advantages of a really scientific education.”

“The more stitches the less riches; the more stitches the less…”

“The introduction of Our Ford’s first T-Model…”

“I’ve had it nearly three months.”

“Chosen as the opening date of the new era.”

“Ending is better than mending; ending is better…”

“There was a thing, as I’ve said before, called Christianity.”

“Ending is better than mending.”

“The ethics and philosophy of under-consumption…”

“I love new clothes, I love new clothes, I love…”

“So essential when there was under-production; but in an age of machines-positively a crime against society.”

“Henry Foster gave it to me.”

“All crosses had their tops cut and became T’s. There was also a thing called God.”

“It’s real morocco-surrogate.”

“We have the World State now. And Ford’s Day celebrations, and Community Sings, and Solidarity Services.”

“Ford, how I hate them!” Bernard Marx was thinking.

“There was a thing called Heaven; but all the same they used to drink enormous quantities of alcohol.”

“Like meat, like so much meat.”

“There was a thing called the soul and a thing called immortality.”

“Do ask Henry where he got it.”

“But they used to take morphia and cocaine.”

“And what makes it worse, she thinks of herself as meat.”

“Two thousand pharmacologists and bio-chemists were subsidized in A. P. 178.”

“He does look glum,” said the Assistant Predestinator, pointing at Bernard Marx.

“Six years later it was being produced commercially. The perfect drug.”

“Let’s bait him.”

“Euphoric, narcotic, pleasantly hallucinant.”

“Glum, Marx, glum.” The clap on the shoulder made him start, look up. It was that brute Henry Foster. “What you need is a gramme of soma.”

“All the advantages of Christianity and alcohol; none of their defects.”

“Ford, I should like to kill him!” But all he did was to say, “No, thank you,” and fend off the tube of tablets.

“Take a holiday from reality whenever you like, and come back without so much as a headache or a mythology.”

“Take it,” insisted Henry Foster, “take it.”

“Stability was practically assured.”

“One cubic centimetre cures ten gloomy sentiments,” said the Assistant Predestinator.

“It only remained to conquer old age.”

“Damn you, damn you!” shouted Bernard Marx.

“Hoity-toity.”

“Gonadal hormones, transfusion of young blood, magnesium salts…”

“And do remember that a gramme is better than a damn.” They went out, laughing.

“All the physiological stigmata of old age have been abolished. And along with them, of course…”

“Don’t forget to ask him about that Malthusian belt,” said Fanny.

“Along with them all the old man’s mental peculiarities. Characters remain constant throughout a whole lifetime.”

“… two rounds of Obstacle Golf to get through before dark. I must fly.”

“Work, play-at sixty our powers and tastes are what they were at seventeen.”

“Idiots, swine!” Bernard Marx was saying to himself, as he walked down the corridor to the lift.

“Now-such is progress-the old men work, the old men copulate-and there is always soma, delicious soma, half a gramme for a half-holiday, a gramme for a week-end, two grammes for a trip to the gorgeous East, three for a dark eternity on the moon. Returning whence they find themselves on the other side of the crevice, safe on the solid ground of daily labour and distraction, scampering from feely to feely, from girl to pneumatic girl, from Electromagnetic Golf course to…”

Slowly, majestically, with a faint humming of machinery, the Conveyors moved forward, thirty-three centimeters an hour. In the red darkness glinted innumerable rubies.

Chapter Four

The lift was crowded with men from the Alpha Changing Rooms, and Lenina was greeted by many friendly nods and smiles. She was a popular girl and, at one time or another, had spent a night with almost all of them.

In the corner, she saw the small thin body and the melancholy face of Bernard Marx.

“Bernard!” she stepped up to him. “I was looking for you. I wanted to talk to you about our New Mexico plan.” Out of the corner of her eye she could see Benito Hoover gaping with astonishment. It annoyed her. “I’d love to come with you for a week in July,” she went on. “That is, if you still want to have me.”

Bernard’s pale face flushed.

“Shouldn’t we talk about it somewhere else?” he stammered. “With all these people about…”

Lenina laughed. “How funny you are! You’ll give me at least a week’s warning, won’t you?”

Before Bernard could answer, the lift came to a standstill. They walked out to the roof.

It was warm and bright. The summer afternoon was drowsy with the hum of passing helicopters. Bernard Marx drew a deep breath. He looked up into the sky and round the blue horizon and finally down into Lenina’s face.

She smiled at him. “I must fly, Bernard. Henry gets cross if I keep him waiting. Let me know in good time about the date.” And waving her hand she ran away towards the hangars.

Henry Foster was already seated in the cockpit of his machine, waiting, when Lenina arrived.

“Four minutes late,” was all his comment, as she climbed in beside him. He started the engines. The machine shot vertically into the air. The speedometer showed that they were rising at the best part of two kilometres a minute. London diminished beneath them. The huge table-topped buildings[22] were no more, in a few seconds, than a bed of geometrical mushrooms sprouting from the green of park and garden. In the midst of them, a taller fungus, the Charing-T Tower, lifted towards the sky.

Lenina looked down through the window in the floor between her feet. They were flying over the six kilometre zone of park-land that separated Central London from its first ring of suburbs. Centrifugal Bumble-puppy towers gleamed between the trees. Below, a Delta gymnastic display and community sing was in progress.

“What a hideous colour khaki is,” remarked Lenina, voicing the hypnopaedic prejudices of her caste. “I’m glad I’m not a Delta or a Gamma.”

Ten minutes later they were at Stoke Poges and had started their first round of Obstacle Golf.

Bernard has tened across the roof.

Lenina was making him suffer. He remembered those weeks of timid indecision, during which he had no courage to ask her. Dared he face the risk of being humiliated? But if she were to say yes! Well, now she had said it and he was still wretched-wretched that she went to join Henry Foster, that she found him funny for not wanting to talk of their most private affairs in public. Wretched because she had behaved as any healthy and virtuous English girl would have.

He opened the door of his lock-up and called to a lounging couple of Delta-Minus attendants to come and push his machine out on to the roof. The hangars were staffed by a single Bokanovsky Group, and the men were twins, identically small, black and hideous. For whatever the cause Bernard’s physique was hardly better than that of the average Gamma. He stood eight centimetres short of the standard Alpha height and was too slender. Contact with members of the lower castes always reminded him of this.

Slackly, it seemed to him, and with reluctance, the twin attendants wheeled his plane out on the roof.

“Hurry up!” said Bernard irritably. One of them glanced at him. “Hurry up!” he shouted more loudly, and there was an ugly rasp in his voice.

He climbed into the plane and, a minute later, was flying southwards, towards the river.

The various Bureau of Propaganda and the College of Emotional Engineering were housed in a single sixty-story building in Fleet Street. In the basement and on the low floors were the presses and offices of the three great London newspapers – 777e Hourly Radio, an upper-caste sheet, the pale green Gamma Gazette, and, on khaki paper and in words exclusively of one syllable, The Delta Mirror. Then came the Bureau of Propaganda by Television, by Feeling Picture, and by Synthetic Voice and Music respectively-twenty-two floors of them. Above were the search laboratories and the Sound-Track Writers and Synthetic Composers rooms. The top eighteen floors were occupied the College of Emotional Engineering.

Bernard landed on the roof of Propaganda House and stepped out.

“Ring down to Mr. Helmholtz Watson,” he ordered the Gamma-Plus porter, “and tell him that Mr. Bernard Marx is waiting for him on the roof.”

He sat down and lit a cigarette.

Helmholtz Watson was writing when the message came down.

“Tell him I’m coming at once,” he said and hung up the receiver. Then he got up and walked briskly to the door.

He was a powerfully built man, broad-shouldered, massive, and yet quick in his movements. His hair was dark and curly. He was handsome and looked like an Alpha Plus. By profession he was a lecturer at the College of Emotional Engineering (Department of Writing) and a working Emotional Engineer. He wrote regularly for The Hourly Radio, composed feely scenarios, and had the knack for slogans and hypnopaedic rhymes.

“Able,” was the verdict of his superiors. “Perhaps, a little too able.”

Yes, a little too able; they were right. A mental excess had produced in Helmholtz Watson effects very similar to those in Bernard Marx. It had isolated Bernard from his fellow men, and the sense of this became in turn a cause of wider separation. Helmholtz Watson had also become aware of his difference from the people who surrounded him. He had realized quite suddenly that sport, women, communal activities were only, so far as he was concerned, second bests. Really, and at the bottom, he was interested in something else. But in what? In what?

Three charming girls from the Bureau of Propaganda by Synthetic Voice walked up to him as he stepped out of the lift.

“Oh, Helmholtz, darling, do come and have a picnic supper with us on Exmoor.”

He shook his head, he pushed his way through them. “No, no. I’m busy.”

It was not till he had actually climbed into Bernard’s plane and slammed the door that they gave up pursuit.

“These women!” he said, as the machine rose into the air. “These women!” And he shook his head, he frowned. “Too awful,” Bernard hypocritically agreed, wishing that he could have as many girls as Helmholtz did, and with as little trouble. He was seized with a sudden urgent need to boast. “I’m taking Lenina Crowne to New Mexico with me,” he said in a tone as casual as he could make it.

“Are you?” said Helmholtz, with a total absence of interest. Then after a little pause, “This last week or two I’ve been cutting all my committees and all my girls. It’s been worth it, I think.”

The rest of the short flight was accomplished in silence. When they had arrived and were comfortably stretched out on the pneumatic sofas in Bernard’s room, Helmholtz began again.

Speaking very slowly, “Did you ever feel,” he asked, “as though you had something inside you that was only waiting for you to give it a chance to come out? Some sort of extra power that you aren’t using?” He looked at Bernard questioningly.

“You mean all the emotions one might be feeling if things were different?”

Helmholtz shook his head. “Not quite. I’m thinking of a queer feeling I sometimes get, a feeling that I’ve got something important to say and the power to say it-only I don’t know what it is. If there was some different way of writing… Or else something else to write about… You see, I’m pretty good at inventing phrases. But that doesn’t seem enough. It’s not enough for the phrases to be good; what you make with them ought to be good too.”

“But your things are good, Helmholtz.”

“Oh, as far as they go.” Helmholtz shrugged his shoulders. “But they go such a little way. They aren’t important enough, somehow. I feel I could do something much more important. But what? What is there more important to say? Words can be like X-rays, if you use them properly-they’ll go through anything. You read and you’re pierced. That’s one of the things I try to teach my students-how to write piercingly. But what on earth’s the good of being pierced by an article about a Community Sing, or the latest improvement in scent organs?”

“Hush!” said Bernard suddenly, and lifted a warning finger; they listened. “I believe there’s somebody at the door,” he whispered.

Helmholtz got up, tiptoed across the room, and with a sharp quick movement flung the door wide open. There was, of course, nobody there.

“I’m sorry,” said Bernard, feeling and looking uncomfortably foolish. “I suppose I’ve got things on my nerves a bit. When people are suspicious with you, you start being suspicious with them.”

He passed his hand across his eyes and sighed. “If you knew what I’d had to put up with recently,” he said almost tearfully. “If you only knew!”

Helmholtz Watson listened with a certain sense of discomfort. “Poor little Bernard!” he said to himself. But at the same time he felt rather ashamed for his friend. He wished Bernard would show a little more pride.

Chapter Five

By eight o’clock the light was failing. Lenina and Henry abandoned their game and walked back towards the Club.

A buzzing of helicopters filled the twilight. Every two and a half minutes a bell announced the departure of one of the light monorail trains which carried the lower caste golfers back from their separate course to the metropolis.

Lenina and Henry climbed into their machine and started off. At eight hundred feet Henry slowed down the helicopter screws, and they hung for a minute or two above the fading landscape. The forest of Burnham Beeches stretched like a great pool of darkness towards the western sky. Their eyes were drawn to the buildings of the Slough Crematorium. For the safety of night-flying planes, its four tall chimneys were flood-lighted and tipped with crimson danger signals.

“Why do the smoke-stacks have those things like balconies around them?” enquired Lenina.

“Phosphorus recovery,” explained Henry. “P₂O₅ used to go right out of circulation every time they cremated someone. Now they recover over ninety-eight per cent of it. More than a kilo and a half per adult corpse. Fine to think we can go on being socially useful even after we’re dead. Making plants grow.”

Lenina, meanwhile, had turned her eyes away. “Fine,” she agreed. “But queer that Alphas and Betas won’t make any more plants grow than those nasty little Gammas and Deltas and Epsilons.”

“All men are equal on the chemical level. Besides, even Epsilons perform important services.”

“Even an Epsilon…” Lenina suddenly remembered an occasion when, as a little girl at school, she had woken up in the middle of the night and become aware, for the first time, of the whispering that had haunted all her sleeps. She saw again the beam of moonlight, the row of small white beds; heard once more the soft, soft voice that said: “Everyone works for everyone else. We can’t do without anyone. Even Epsilons are useful. We couldn’t do without Epsilons. Everyone works for everyone else. We can’t do without anyone…” Lenina remembered her first shock of fear and surprise; her speculations through half a wakeful hour; and then, under the influence of the endless repetition, the gradual soothing of her mind…

“I suppose Epsilons don’t really mind being Epsilons,” she said aloud.

“Of course they don’t. How can they? They don’t know what it’s like being anything else.”

“I’m glad I’m not an Epsilon,” said Lenina, with conviction.

“And if you were an Epsilon,” said Henry, “your conditioning would have made you no less thankful that you weren’t a Beta or an Alpha.” He put his forward propeller into gear and headed the machine towards London.

Landing on the roof of Henry’s forty-story apartment house in Westminster, they went straight down to the dining-hall. There, in a loud and cheerful company, they ate an excellent meal. Soma was served with the coffee. Lenina took two half-gramme tablets and Henry three. At twenty past nine they walked across the street to the newly opened Westminster Abbey Cabaret. It was a night almost without clouds, moonless and starry; but of this Lenina and Henry were fortunately unaware. The electric sky-signs effectively shut off the outer darkness. “CALVIN STOPES AND HIS SIXTEEN SEXOPHONISTS.” From the facade of the new Abbey the giant letters invitingly glared. “LONDON’S FINEST SCENT AND COLOUR ORGAN. ALL THE LATEST SYNTHETIC MUSIC.”

They entered. The air seemed hot and somehow breathless with the scent of sandalwood. On the domed ceiling of the hall, the colour organ had momentarily painted a tropical sunset. The Sixteen Sexophonists were playing an old favourite: “There ain’t no Bottle in all the world like that dear little Bottle of mine.” Four hundred couples were five-stepping round the polished floor. Lenina and Henry were soon the four hundred and first.

“Bottle of mine, it’s you I’ve always wanted!Bottle of mine, why was I ever decanted?Skies are blue inside of you,The weather’s always fine;ForThere ain’t no Bottle in all the worldLike that dear little Bottle of mine.”

Five-stepping with the other four hundred round and round Westminster Abbey, Lenina and Henry were yet dancing in another world-the warm, the richly coloured, the infinitely friendly world of soma-holiday. How kind, how good-looking, how delightfully amusing everyone was! “Bottle of mine, it’s you I’ve always wanted…” But Lenina and Henry had what they wanted… They were inside, here and now-safely inside with the fine weather, the blue sky.

“Good-night, dear friends. Good-night, dear friends.” The loud speakers veiled their commands in a genial and musical politeness. “Good-night, dear friends…”

Obediently, with all the others, Lenina and Henry left the building.

Swallowed half an hour before closing time, that second dose of soma had raised an impenetrable wall between the actual universe and their minds. Bottled, they crossed the street; bottled, they took the lift up to Henry’s room. And yet, bottled as she was[23], Lenina did not forget to take all the contraceptive precautions. Years of intensive hypnopaedia and Malthusian drill three times a week had made it almost as automatic as blinking.

“Oh, and that reminds me,” she said, as she came back from the bathroom, “Fanny Crowne wants to know where you found that lovely green morocco-surrogate cartridge belt you gave me.”

Alternate Thursdays were Bernard’s Solidarity Service days. After an early dinner he hailed a taxi on the roof and told the man to fly to the Fordson Community Singery.

“Damn, I’m late,” Bernard said to himself as he first caught sight of Big Henry, the Singery clock. And sure enough, as he was paying off his cab, Big Henry sounded the hour[24]. “Ford, Ford, Ford…” Nine times. Bernard ran for the lift.

The great auditorium for Ford’s Day celebrations and other Community Sings was at the bottom of the building. Bernard dropped down to floor thirty-three, hurried along the corridor, stood hesitating for a moment outside Room 3210, then opened the door and walked in.

Thank Ford! He was not the last. Three chairs of the twelve arranged round the table were still unoccupied. He slipped into the nearest of them as silently as he could.

Turning towards him, “What were you playing this afternoon?” the girl on his left asked. “Obstacle, or Electro-magnetic?”

Bernard looked at her (Ford! It was Morgana Rothschild) and had to admit that he had been playing neither. Morgana stared at him with astonishment. There was an awkward silence.

Then pointedly she turned away and addressed herself to the more sporting man on her left.

“A good beginning for a Solidarity Service,” thought Bernard miserably. If only he had given himself time to look around instead of scuttling for the nearest chair! He could have sat between Fifi Bradlaugh and Joanna Diesel. Instead he had gone and blindly planted himself next to Morgana. Morgana! Ford! Those black eyebrows of hers-that eyebrow, rather-Ford! And on his right was Clara Deterding. She was really too pneumatic. Whereas Fifi and Joanna were absolutely right.

The last arrival was Sarojini Engels.

“You’re late,” said the President of the Group severely. “Don’t let it happen again.”

Sarojini apologized and slid into her place. The group was now complete. Man, woman, man, in a ring of endless alternation round the table. Twelve of them ready to be made one, waiting to come together, to be fused, to lose their twelve separate identities in a larger being.

The President stood up, made the sign of the T and, switching on the synthetic music, let loose the soft beating of drums and a choir of instruments, haunting melody of the first Solidarity Hymn.

The President made another sign of the T and sat down. The service had begun. The dedicated soma tablets were placed in the centre of the table. The loving cup of strawberry ice-cream soma was passed from hand to hand and, with the formula, “I drink to my annihilation.” Then the First Solidarity Hymn was sung.

“Ford, we are twelve; oh, make us one,Like drops within the Social River,Oh, make us now together runAs swiftly as thy shining Flivver.”

Twelve stanzas. And then the loving cup was passed a second time. “I drink to the Greater Being” was now the formula. All drank. The Second Solidarity Hymn was sung.

“Come, Greater Being, Social Friend,Annihilating Twelve-in-One!We long to die, for when we end,Our larger life has but begun.”

Again twelve stanzas. By this time the soma had begun to work. Eyes shone, cheeks were flushed. Even Bernard felt himself a little melted. When Morgana Rothschild turned and beamed at him, he did his best to beam back. But the eyebrow, it was still there; he couldn’t ignore it, couldn’t, however hard he tried. For the third time the loving cup went round; “I drink to the imminence of His Coming,” said Morgana Rothschild. She drank and passed the cup to Bernard. “I drink to the imminence of His Coming,” he repeated. He handed the cup to Clara Deterding. “It’ll be a failure again,” he said to himself. “I know it will.”

The loving cup had made its circuit. Lifting his hand, the President gave a signal; the chorus broke out into the third Solidarity Hymn.

“Feel how the Greater Being comes!Rejoice and, in rejoicings, die!Melt in the music of the drums!For I am you and you are I.”

The sense of the Coming’s imminence was like an electric tension in the air. The President switched off the music and, with the final note of the final stanza, there was absolute silence. The President reached out his hand; and suddenly a Voice, a deep strong Voice, more musical than any merely human voice, richer, warmer, more vibrant with love and yearning and compassion, a wonderful, mysterious, supernatural Voice spoke from above their heads. Very slowly, “Oh, Ford, Ford, Ford,” it said on a descending scale. A sensation of warmth radiated thrillingly out from the bodies of those who listened; tears came into their eyes. “Listen!” trumpeted the voice. “Listen!” They listened. “The feet of the Greater Being,” it went on. The whisper almost expired. “The feet of the Greater Being are on the stairs.” And once more there was silence. And suddenly the tearing point was reached. Morgana Rothschild sprang to her feet.

“I hear him,” she cried. “I hear him.”

“He’s coming,” shouted Sarojini Engels.

“Yes, he’s coming, I hear him.” Fifi Bradlaugh and Tom Kawaguchi rose simultaneously to their feet.

“Oh, oh, oh!” Joanna testified.

“He’s coming!” yelled Jim Bokanovsky.

“Oh, he’s coming!” screamed Clara Deterding.

Feeling that it was time for him to do something, Bernard also jumped up and shouted: “I hear him; He’s coming.” But it wasn’t true. He heard nothing and, for him, nobody was coming. But he waved his arms, he shouted with the best of them; and when the others began to jig and stamp and shuffle, he also jigged and shuffled.

Round they went, a circular procession of dancers, each with hands on the hips of the dancer in front of them, round and round, shouting in unison, stamping to the rhythm of the music with their feet. Twelve as one, twelve as one. The music quickened. And all at once a great synthetic bass boomed out the words which announced the approaching atonement and final consummation of solidarity, the coming of the Twelve-in-One. “Orgy-porgy,” it sang, while the drums continued to beat their feverish rhythm:

“Orgy-porgy, Ford and fun,Kiss the girls and make them One.Boys at One with girls at peace;Orgy-porgy gives release.”

The dancers caught up the refrain. And as they sang, the lights began slowly to fade-to fade and at the same time to grow warmer, richer, redder, until at last they were dancing in the crimson twilight of an Embryo Store. “Orgy-porgy…” In their blood-coloured darkness the dancers continued for a while to circulate. “Orgy-porgy…” Then the circle wavered, broke, fell in partial disintegration on the ring of couches which surrounded the table. “Orgy-porgy…” Tenderly the deep Voice crooned and cooed.

They were standing on the roof; Big Henry had just sung eleven. The night was calm and warm.

“Wasn’t it wonderful?” said Fifi Bradlaugh. “Wasn’t it simply wonderful?” She looked at Bernard with an expression of rapture. Hers was the calm ecstasy of achieved consummation, the peace. A rich and living peace. “Didn’t you think it was wonderful?” she insisted, looking into Bernard’s face with those supernaturally shining eyes.

“Yes, I thought it was wonderful,” he lied and looked away. He was as miserably isolated now as he had been when the service began. Alone even in Morgana’s embrace-much more alone, indeed, more hopelessly himself than he had ever been in his life before. He was utterly miserable, and perhaps (her shining eyes accused him), perhaps it was his own fault. “Quite wonderful,” he repeated; but the only thing he could think of was Morgana’s eyebrow.

Chapter Six

Odd, odd, odd, was Lenina’s verdict on Bernard Marx. So odd, indeed, that in the course of the next few weeks she had wondered more than once whether she shouldn’t change her mind about the New Mexico holiday, and go instead to the North Pole with Benito Hoover. The trouble was that she knew the North Pole, had been there with George Edzel only last summer, and found it pretty grim. Added to that, she had only been to America once before. And even then, a cheap week-end in New York. The prospect of flying West again, and for a whole week, was very inviting. Moreover, for at least three days of that week they would be in the Savage Reservation. As an Alpha-Plus psychologist, Bernard was one of the few men she knew entitled to a permit. For Lenina, the opportunity was unique.

“Alcohol in his blood-surrogate,” was Fanny’s explanation of every eccentricity. But Henry, with whom Lenina had rather anxiously discussed her new lover, had compared poor Bernard to a rhinoceros.

“You can’t teach a rhinoceros tricks,” he had explained. “Some men are almost rhinoceroses; they don’t respond properly to conditioning. Poor Devils! Bernard’s one of them. Luckily for him, he’s pretty good at his job. Otherwise the Director would never have kept him. I think he’s pretty harmless.”

Pretty harmless, perhaps; but also pretty disquieting. That mania, to start with, for doing things in private. Which meant, in practice, not doing anything at all. For what was there that one could do in private. (Apart, of course, from going to bed: but one couldn’t do that all the time.) The first afternoon they went out together was particularly fine. Lenina had suggested a swim at Toquay Country Club followed by dinner at the Oxford Union. But Bernard thought there would be too much of a crowd. Then what about a round of Electro-magnetic Golf at St. Andrew’s? But again, no: Bernard considered that Electro-magnetic Golf was a waste of time.

“Then what’s time for?” asked Lenina in some astonishment.

Apparently, for going walks in the Lake District. “Alone with you, Lenina.”

“But, Bernard, we shall be alone all night.”

Bernard blushed and looked away. “I meant, alone for talking,” he mumbled.

“Talking? But what about?”

In the end she persuaded him, much against his will, to fly over to Amsterdam to see the Women’s Heavyweight Wrestling Championship.

“In a crowd,” he grumbled. “As usual.” He remained gloomy the whole afternoon; wouldn’t talk to Lenina’s friends and refused to take the half-gramme raspberry soma sundae. “I’d rather be myself,” he said. “Myself and nasty. Not somebody else, however jolly.”

Lenina shrugged her shoulders. “A gramme is always better than a damn,” she concluded with dignity, and drank the sundae herself.

On their way back across the Channel, Bernard insisted on stopping his propeller and hovering within a hundred feet of the waves. The weather had taken a change for the worse; a south-westerly wind had sprung up, the sky was cloudy.

“Look,” he commanded.

“But it’s horrible,” said Lenina, shrinking back from the window. She was appalled by the rushing emptiness of the night, by the black water beneath them, by the pale face of the moon. “Let’s turn on the radio!”

“I want to look at the sea in peace,” he said. “One can’t even look with that beastly noise going on.”

“But I don’t want to look.”

“But I do,” he insisted. “It makes me feel as though I am… more. More on my own, not a part of something else.”

Lenina was crying. “It’s horrible, it’s horrible,” she kept repeating. “And how can you talk like that about not wanting to be a part of the social body? After all, everyone works for everyone else. We can’t do without anyone. Even Epsilons…”

“Yes, I know,” said Bernard. “‘Even Epsilons are useful’! So am I. And I damned well wish I weren’t!”

“Bernard, you’re saying the most awful things.”

“Don’t you wish you were free, Lenina?”

“I don’t know what you mean. I am free. Free to have the most wonderful time. Everybody’s happy nowadays.”

He laughed, “Yes, ‘Everybody’s happy nowadays.’ Wouldn’t you like to be free to be happy in some other way, Lenina? In your own way; not in everybody else’s way.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she repeated. “Oh, do let’s go back, Bernard. I do so hate it here.”

“Don’t you like being with me?”

“I do, Bernard. It’s this horrible place.”

“I thought we’d be more… more together here. More together than in that crowd, or even in my rooms. Don’t you understand that?”

“I don’t understand anything,” she said with decision. “Nothing. Least of all, why you don’t take soma when you have these dreadful ideas of yours.”

He looked at her in silence, his face unresponsive and very grave. After a few seconds Lenina’s eyes flinched away; she uttered a nervous little laugh, tried to think of something to say and couldn’t. The silence prolonged itself.

When Bernard spoke at last, it was in a small tired voice. “All right then,” he said, “we’ll go back.” And stepping hard on the accelerator, he sent the machine up into the sky. They flew in silence for a minute or two. Then, suddenly, Bernard began to laugh.

“Feeling better?” she asked.

For answer, he lifted one hand from the controls and, slipping his arm around her, began to fondle her breasts.

“Thank Ford,” she said to herself, “he’s all right again.”

Half an hour later they were back in his rooms. Bernard swallowed four tablets of soma, turned on the radio and television and began to undress.

“Well,” Lenina enquired, with when they met next afternoon on the roof, “did you think it was fun yesterday?”

Bernard nodded. They climbed into the plane. A little jolt, and they were off.

“Everyone says I’m awfully plump,” said Lenina, patting her own legs.

“Awfully.” But there was an expression of pain in Bernard’s eyes. “Like meat,” he was thinking.

She looked up with a certain anxiety. “But you don’t think I’m too plump, do you?”

He shook his head. Like so much meat.

“You think I’m all right.” Another nod. “In every way?”

“Perfect,” he said aloud. And inwardly. “She thinks of herself that way. She doesn’t mind being meat.”

“All the same,” he went on, after a little pause, “I still rather wish it had all ended differently. I didn’t want it to end with our going to bed. Not at once, not the first day.”

“But then what…?”

He began to talk a lot of incomprehensible and dangerous nonsense. Lenina did her best to stop the ears of her mind; but every now and then a phrase would insist on becoming audible.

“I want to know what passion is,” she heard him saying. “I want to feel something strongly.”

“When the individual feels, the community reels,” Lenina pronounced.

“Well, why shouldn’t it reel a bit?”

“Bernard!”

“Adults intellectually and during working hours,” he went on. “Infants where feeling and desire are concerned. It might be possible to be an adult all the time.”

“I don’t understand.” Lenina’s tone was firm.

“I know you don’t. And that’s why we went to bed together yesterday-like infants-instead of being adults and waiting.”

“But it was fun,” Lenina insisted. “Wasn’t it?”

“Oh, the greatest fun,” he answered, but in a voice so mournful, that Lenina felt all her triumph suddenly evaporate.

“I told you so,” was all that Fanny said. “It’s the alcohol they put in his surrogate.”

“All the same[25],” Lenina insisted. “I do like him. But I wish he weren’t so odd.”

Stopping for a moment outside the door of the Director’s room, Bernard drew a deep breath. He knocked and entered.

“A permit for you to sign, Director,” he said as airily as possible, and laid the paper on the writing-table.

The Director glanced at him sourly. But the stamp of the World Controller’s Office was at the head of the paper and the signature of Mustapha Mond, bold and black, across the bottom. Everything was perfectly in order. The director had no choice. He signed and was about to return the paper without a word of comment, when his eye was caught by something written in the permit.

“For the New Mexican Reservation?” he said, and his face expressed a kind of agitated astonishment.

Surprised by his surprise, Bernard nodded. There was a silence.

The Director leaned back in his chair, frowning. “How long ago was it?” he said, speaking more to himself than to Bernard. “Twenty years, I suppose. Twenty-five. I must have been your age…” He sighed and shook his head.

“I had the same idea as you,” the Director was saying. “Wanted to have a look at the savages. Got a permit for New Mexico and went there for my summer holiday. With the girl I was having at the moment. She was a Beta-Minus, and I think” (he shut his eyes), “I think she had yellow hair. Well, we went there, and we looked at the savages, and we rode about on horses and all that. And then-it was almost the last day of my leave… well, she got lost. She must have gone for a walk, alone. At any rate, when I woke up, she wasn’t there. And the most frightful thunderstorm I’ve ever seen was just bursting on us. I searched and I shouted and I searched. But there was no sign of her. The next day there was a search. But we couldn’t find anything. She must have fallen into a gully somewhere; or been eaten by a mountain lion. Ford knows. Anyhow it was horrible. It upset me very much at the time, more than it ought to have done, I dare say. Because, after all, it’s the sort of accident that might have happened to anyone. I actually dream about it sometimes,” the Director went on in a low voice. “Dream of being woken up by thunder and finding her gone; dream of searching and searching for her under the trees.” He fell silent.

“You must have had a terrible shock,” said Bernard, almost enviously.

At the sound of his voice the Director started into a guilty realization of where he was; shot a glance at Bernard, and averting his eyes, blushed darkly. Then he looked at him again with sudden suspicion and anger. “Don’t imagine,” he said, “that I’d had any relation with the girl. Nothing emotional, nothing long-drawn. It was all perfectly healthy and normal.” He handed Bernard the permit. “I really don’t know why I bored you with this story.” Furious with himself for having given away a discreditable secret, he vented his rage on Bernard. “And I should like to take this opportunity, Mr. Marx,” he went on, “to say that I’m not at all pleased with the reports I receive of your behaviour outside working hours. I have the good name of the Centre to think of. My workers must be above suspicion, particularly those of the highest castes. And so, Mr. Marx, I give you fair warning.” The Director’s voice was the expression of the disapproval of Society itself. “If ever I hear again of any lapse from a proper standard of infantile decorum, I shall ask for your transference to a Sub-Centre-preferably to Iceland. Good morning.” And swivelling round in his chair, he picked up his pen and began to write.

“That’ll teach him,” he said to himself. But he was mistaken. Bernard left the room elated by the feeling of his individual significance and importance. Even the thought of persecution didn’t bother him. He felt strong enough to face even Iceland. Walking along the corridor, he actually whistled.

The journey was quite uneventful. The Blue Pacific Rocket was two and a half minutes early at New Orleans, lost four minutes in a tornado over Texas, but was able to land at Santa Fe less than forty seconds behind schedule time.

“Not so bad,” Lenina conceded.

They slept that night at Santa Fe. The hotel was excellent-incomparably better, for example, than that horrible Aurora Bora Palace in which Lenina had suffered so much the previous summer. Liquid air, television, vibro-vacuum massage, radio, boiling caffeine solution, hot contraceptives, and eight different kinds of scent were laid on in every bedroom. The synthetic music plant was working as they entered the hall and left nothing to be desired. A notice in the lift announced that there were sixty Escalator-Squash-Racket Courts in the hotel, and that Obstacle and Electro-magnetic Golf could both be played in the park.

“But it sounds simply too lovely,” cried Lenina. “I almost wish we could stay here. Sixty Escalator-Squash Courts…”

“There won’t be any in the Reservation,” Bernard warned her. “And no scent, no television, no hot water even. If you feel you can’t stand it, stay here till I come back. You mustn’t come to the Reservation unless you really want to.”

“But I do want to.”

“Very well, then,” said Bernard; and it was almost a threat.

Their permit required the signature of the Warden of the Reservation, at whose office next morning they duly presented themselves. They were admitted almost immediately.

The Warden was a blond Alpha-Minus, short, red, moon-faced, and broad-shouldered, with a loud booming voice. Once started, he went on and on-boomingly.

“… five hundred and sixty thousand square kilometres, divided into four distinct Sub-Reservations, each surrounded by a high-tension wire fence.”

At this moment, and for no apparent reason, Bernard suddenly remembered that he had left the Eau de Cologne tap in his bathroom wide open and running.

“… supplied with current from the Grand Canyon hydro-electric station.”

“Cost me a fortune by the time I get back. Quickly telephone to Helmholtz Watson.”

“… upwards of five thousand kilometres of fencing at sixty thousand volts.”

“You don’t say so,” said Lenina politely, not knowing in the least what the Warden had said, but taking her cue from his dramatic pause. When the Warden started booming, she had swallowed half a gramme of soma, and now could sit serenely, not listening, thinking of nothing at all.

“To touch the fence is instant death,” pronounced the Warden solemnly. “There is no escape from a Savage Reservation.”

“Perhaps,” said Bernard, “we ought to think of going.” The little black needle on the tap was nibbling through time, eating into his money.

“No escape,” repeated the Warden, waving him back into his chair; and as the permit was not yet countersigned, Bernard had no choice but to obey. “Those who are born in the Reservation are destined to die there.”

“Perhaps,” Bernard tried again, “we ought…”

Leaning forward, the Warden tapped the table with his forefinger. “You ask me how many people live in the Reservation. And I reply”-triumphantly-“I reply that we do not know. We can only guess.”

“You don’t say so.”

“My dear young lady, I do say so.”

Bernard was pale and trembling with impatience. But the booming continued.

“… about sixty thousand Indians and half-breeds… absolute savages… our inspectors occasionally visit… otherwise, no communication whatever with the civilized world… still preserve their repulsive habits and customs… marriage, if you know what that is, my dear young lady; families… no conditioning… monstrous superstitions… Christianity and totemism and ancestor worship… extinct languages, such as Zuni and Spanish and Athapascan… pumas, porcupines and other ferocious animals… infectious diseases… priests… venomous lizards…”

They got away at last. Bernard dashed to the telephone. Quick, quick; but it took him nearly three minutes to get on to Helmholtz Watson. At last, thank Ford, he was through and, yes, it was Helmholtz, who promised to go round at once and turn off the tap, yes, at once, but took this opportunity to tell him what the D.H.C. had said, in public, yesterday evening…

“What? He’s looking out for someone to take my place?” Bernard’s voice was agonized. “So it’s actually decided? Did he mention Iceland?”

He hung up the receiver and turned back to Lenina. His face was pale.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“The matter?” He dropped heavily into a chair. “I’m going to be sent to Iceland.”

Often in the past he had wondered what it would be like to be subjected to some great trial, some pain, some persecution. As recently as a week ago, in the Director’s office, he had imagined himself stoically accepting suffering without a word. Now he realized that it was because he had not taken the threats quite seriously, he had not believed that, when it came to the point, the D.H.C. would ever do anything. Now there wasn’t a trace of that imagined stoicism, that theoretical courage.

He raged against himself[26]-what a fool! – against the Director-how unfair not to give him that other chance, that other chance which, he now had no doubt at all, he had always intended to take. And Iceland, Iceland…

Lenina shook her head.

In the end she persuaded him to swallow four tablets of soma. Five minutes later he felt better. A message from the porter announced that a Reservation Guard had come round with a plane and was waiting on the roof of the hotel. They went up at once.

The programme was: a bird’s-eye view of ten or a dozen of the principal pueblos, then a landing for lunch in the valley of Malpais. The rest-house was comfortable there, and up at the pueblo the savages would probably be celebrating their summer festival. It would be the best place to spend the night.

They took their seats in the plane and set off. Ten minutes later they were crossing the frontier that separated civilization from savagery. Uphill and down, across the deserts of salt or sand, through forests, into the violet depth of canyons, over mesas, the fence marched on and on. At its foot, here and there, a mosaic of white bones, a still unrotted carcass marked the place where an animal had come too close to the destroying wires.

“They never learn,” said the green-uniformed pilot. “And they never will learn,” he added and laughed.

Bernard also laughed; after two grammes of soma the joke seemed, for some reason, good. Laughed and then, almost immediately, dropped off to sleep[27]. When he woke, he found their machine standing on the ground, Lenina carrying the suitcases into a small square house, and the Gamma-green pilot talking incomprehensibly with a young Indian.

“Malpais,” explained the pilot, as Bernard stepped out. “This is the rest-house. And there’s a dance this afternoon at the pueblo. He’ll take you there.” He pointed to the young savage. “Funny, I expect.” He grinned. “Everything they do is funny.” And with that he climbed into the plane and started up the engines. “Back tomorrow. And remember,” he added reassuringly to Lenina, “they’re perfectly tame; savages won’t do you any harm. They’ve got enough experience of gas bombs to know that they mustn’t play any tricks.”

Chapter Seven

The mesa was like a ship in a strait of dust. The channel ran between precipitous banks, and slanting from one wall to the other across the valley ran a streak of green-the river and its fields. In the centre of the strait, and seemingly a part of it, stood the pueblo of Malpais. Block above block, each story smaller than the one below, the tall houses rose like stepped pyramids into the blue sky. At their feet lay a straggle of low buildings, a criss-cross of walls. A few columns of smoke mounted perpendicularly into the windless air and were lost.

“Queer,” said Lenina. “Very queer.” It was her ordinary word of condemnation. “I don’t like it. And I don’t like that man.” She pointed to the Indian guide. Her feeling was evidently reciprocated; the very back of the man, as he walked along before them, was hostile.

They walked on.

Suddenly it was as though the whole air had come alive and was pulsing. Up there, in Malpais, the drums were being beaten. Their feet fell in with the rhythm of that mysterious heart; they quickened their pace. Their path led them to the foot of the precipice. The sides of the great mesa ship towered over them.

“I wish we could have brought the plane,” said Lenina. “I hate walking. And you feel so small when you’re on the ground at the bottom of a hill.”

They walked along for some way in the shadow of the mesa, and reached a ladder. They climbed. It was a very steep path that zigzagged from side to side of the gully. Sometimes the pulsing of the drums was all but inaudible, at others they seemed to be beating only just round the corner.

They emerged at last from the ravine into the full sunlight. The top of the mesa was a flat deck of stone.

“Like the Charing-T Tower,” was Lenina’s comment. A sound of footsteps made them turn round. Naked from throat to navel, their dark brown bodies painted with white lines, two Indians came running along the path. Their black hair was braided with fox fur and red flannel. Cloaks of turkey feathers fluttered from their shoulders; huge feather diadems exploded gaudily round their heads. With every step they took came the clink and rattle of their silver bracelets, their heavy necklaces of bone and turquoise beads. They came on without a word, running quietly. One of them was holding a feather brush; the other carried, in either hand, what looked at a distance like three or four pieces of thick rope. One of the ropes writhed, and suddenly Lenina saw that they were snakes.

The men came nearer and nearer; their dark eyes looked at her, but only showed the smallest sign that they had seen her or were aware of her existence. The writhing snake hung limp again with the rest. The men passed.

“I don’t like it,” said Lenina. “I don’t like it.”

She liked even less what awaited her at the entrance to the pueblo. The dirt, the piles of rubbish, the dust, the dogs, the flies. She held her handkerchief to her nose, disgusted.

“How can they live like this?” she broke out.

“They’ve been doing it for the last five or six thousand years. So I suppose they must be used to it by now.”

“Oh!” She gripped his arm. “Look.”

An almost naked Indian was very slowly climbing down the ladder from the first-floor terrace of a neighboring house. His face was wrinkled and black, like a mask of obsidian. The toothless mouth had fallen in. At the corners of the lips, and on each side of the chin, a few long bristles gleamed almost white against the dark skin. The long hair hung down in grey wisps. His body was bent and emaciated.

“What’s the matter with him?” whispered Lenina. Her eyes were wide with horror and amazement.

“He’s old, that’s all,” Bernard answered as carelessly as he could.

“Old?” she repeated. “But lots of people are old; they’re not like that.”

“That’s because we don’t allow them to be like that. We preserve them.”

“But it’s terrible,” Lenina whispered. “It’s awful. We ought not to have come here.” She felt in her pocket for her soma-only to discover that she had left the bottle down at the rest-house.

Lenina was left to face the horrors[28] of Malpais by herself. They came crowding in on her[29] thick and fast. She saw two young women giving breast[30] to their babies made her blush and turn away. She had never seen anything so indecent in her life. And what made it worse was that, instead of ignoring it, Bernard proceeded to make comments on this scene.

“What a wonderfully intimate relationship,” he said. “And what an intensity of feeling it must generate! I often think one may have missed something in not having had a mother. And perhaps you’ve missed something in not being a mother, Lenina. Imagine yourself sitting there with a little baby of your own…”

“Bernard! How can you? Let’s go away, I don’t like it.”

At this moment their guide came back and beckoned them to follow. He led the way down the narrow street. They rounded a corner. Their guide stopped at the foot of a ladder, raised his hand, then darted it horizontally forward. They did what he commanded-climbed the ladder and walked through the doorway, to which it gave access, into a long narrow room, rather dark and smelling of smoke and cooked grease and dirty clothes. At the further end of the room was another doorway, through which came a ray of sunlight and the noise of the drums.

They stepped across the threshold and found themselves on a wide terrace. Below them was the village square, crowded with Indians. Bright blankets, and feathers in black hair, and the glint of turquoise, and dark skins shining with heat. Lenina put her handkerchief to her nose again. In the open space at the centre of the square were two circular platforms of masonry and trampled clay-the roofs of underground chambers; for in the centre of each platform was an open hatchway.

Lenina liked the drums. Shutting her eyes she allowed the sound to invade her consciousness more and more, till at last there was nothing left in the world but that one deep pulse of sound. It reminded her of the synthetic noises made at Solidarity Services and Ford’s Day celebrations. “Orgy-porgy,” she whispered to herself.

“It reminds me of a lower-caste Community Sing,” she told Bernard.

Suddenly a ghastly troop of monsters had swarmed up from the round chambers underground. Hideously masked or painted out of all semblance of humanity, they danced strangely round the square; round and again round, singing as they went, round and round-each time a little faster. The drums had changed and quickened their rhythm. The crowd had begun to sing with the dancers, louder and louder. Suddenly the leader of the dancers broke out of the line, ran to a big wooden chest which was standing at one end of the square, raised the lid and pulled out a pair of black snakes. A great yell went up from the crowd, and all the other dancers ran towards him with outstretched hands. He tossed the snakes to the first-comers, then dipped back into the chest for more. More and more-he flung them out. The dance began again on a different rhythm. The leader gave a signal, and one after another, all the snakes were flung down in the middle of the square; an old man came up from underground and sprinkled them with corn meal, and from the other hatchway came a woman and sprinkled them with water. Then the old man lifted his hand and, terrifyingly, there was absolute silence. The drums stopped beating. The old man pointed towards the two hatchways. And slowly, from one emerged a painted image of an eagle, from the other that of a man, naked, and nailed to a cross. The old man clapped his hands. A boy of about eighteen, wearing a white cotton cloth, stepped out of the crowd and stood before him. The old man made the sign of the cross over him and turned away. Slowly, the boy began to walk round the writhing heap of snakes. He had completed the first circle when, from among the dancers, a tall man wearing the mask of a coyote and holding in his hand a whip, came out. The boy moved on. The coyote-man raised his whip, there was a whistle of the lash and its loud impact on the flesh. The boy’s body quivered; but he made no sound, he walked on at the same slow, steady pace. The coyote struck again and again. The boy walked. Twice, thrice, four times round he went. The blood was streaming. Five times round, six times round. Suddenly Lenina covered her face with her hands and began to sob. “Oh, stop them, stop them!” she pleaded. Seven times round. Then all at once the boy staggered and, still without a sound, fell forward on his face. Bending over him, the old man touched his back with a long white feather, held it up for a moment, crimson, for the people to see, then shook it thrice over the snakes. A few drops fell, and suddenly the drums broke out again; there was a great shout. The dancers rushed forward, picked up the snakes and ran out of the square. Men, women, children, all the crowd ran after them. A minute later the square was empty, only the boy remained, quite still. Three old women came out of one of the houses, lifted him up and carried him in. The eagle and the man on the cross kept guard over the empty pueblo.

Lenina was still sobbing. “Too awful,” she kept repeating. “Too awful! That blood! Oh, I wish I had my soma.”

There was the sound of feet in the inner room.

Lenina did not move, but sat with her face in her hands. Only Bernard turned round.

The dress of the young man who stepped out on to the terrace was Indian; but his hair was straw-coloured, his eyes were blue, and his skin was white.

“Hullo. Good-morrow,” said the stranger. “You’re civilized, aren’t you? You come from outside the Reservation?”

“Who on earth…?” Bernard began in astonishment.

The young man sighed and shook his head. “A most unhappy gentleman.” And, pointing to the bloodstains in the centre of the square, “Do you see that spot?” he asked. “I ought to have been there. Why wouldn’t they let me be the sacrifice? I’d have gone round ten times, twelve, fifteen. They could have had twice as much blood from me. But they wouldn’t let me. They dislike me for my complexion. It’s always been like that. Always.”

Astonishment made Lenina uncover her face and, for the first time, look at the stranger. “Do you mean to say that you wanted to be hit with that whip?”

The young man made a sign of affirmation. “For the sake of the pueblo-to make the rain come and the corn grow. And to please Pookong and Jesus. And then to show that I can bear pain without crying out. To show that I’m a man… Oh!” He gave a gasp and was silent. He had seen, for the first time in his life, the face of a girl whose cheeks were not the colour of chocolate or dogskin, whose hair was auburn and permanently waved, and whose expression was one of benevolent interest. Lenina was smiling at him. The blood rushed up into the young man’s face; he dropped his eyes.

Bernard started asking questions. Who? How? When? From where? The young man tried to explain himself. Linda and he-Linda was his mother (the word made Lenina look uncomfortable)-were strangers in the Reservation. Linda had come from the Other Place long ago, before he was born, with a man who was his father. (Bernard pricked up his ears[31].) She had gone walking alone in those mountains over there to the North, had fallen down a steep place and hurt her head. (“Go on, go on,” said Bernard excitedly.) Some hunters from Malpais had found her and brought her to the pueblo. His father’s name was Tomakin. (Yes, “Thomas” was the D.H.C.’s first name.) He must have flown back to the Other Place without her.

“And so I was born in Malpais,” he concluded.

The squalor of that little house on the outskirts of the pueblo! Inside, when they entered, it stank and was loud with flies.

“Linda!” the young man called.

From the inner room a rather hoarse female voice said, “Coming.”

The door opened. A stout blonde woman stepped across the threshold and stood looking at the strangers. Lenina noticed with disgust that two of the front teeth were missing. And the colour of the ones that remained… It was worse than the old man. So fat. And all the lines in her face, the wrinkles, and the sagging cheeks, and the red veins on her nose. And that neck-that neck; and the blanket she wore over her head-ragged and filthy. And under the brown sack-shaped tunic those enormous breasts, the bulge of the stomach, the hips. And suddenly the creature burst out in a torrent of speech, rushed at her with outstretched arms and-Ford! Ford! It was too revolting-pressed against her and began to kiss her. 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.” She touched 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.” Her tears began to flow again. “What I had to suffer-and not a gramme of soma to be had. Only a drink of mescal every now and then. But it makes you feel so bad afterwards, and it always made that awful feeling of being ashamed much worse the next day. And I was so ashamed. 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; but all the same it happened, and of course there wasn’t anything like an Abortion Centre here.” 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 shouldn’t 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 in the end I suppose I got used to it. And how can you keep things clean when there isn’t hot water? And look at these clothes. This beastly wool isn’t like acetate. It lasts and lasts. And you’re supposed to mend it. But I’m a Beta; I worked in the Fertilizing Room; nobody ever taught me to do anything like that. It’s all different here. It’s like living with lunatics. Everything they do is mad.” She looked round and saw that John and Bernard had left them; but still lowered her voice. “For instance, the way they have one another here. Mad, I tell you, absolutely mad. Everybody belongs to everyone else-don’t they? Well, here nobody’s supposed to belong to more than one person. And if you have people in the ordinary way, the others think you’re wicked. They hate and despise you. Once a lot of women came and made a scene because their men came to see me. And then they rushed at me… No, it was too awful. They’re so hateful, the women here. Mad and cruel. And of course they don’t know anything about Malthusian Drill, or bottles, or decanting, so they’re having children all the time-like dogs. It’s too revolting. And yet John was a great comfort to me. I don’t know what I should have done without him. Even though he did get so upset when I had a man. He seems to have caught it from the Indians. Because, of course, he was with them a lot. Even though they always were so beastly to him. Which was a good thing in a way, because it made it easier for me to condition him a little. Though you’ve no idea how difficult that is. There’s so much one doesn’t know; it wasn’t my business to know. I mean, when a child asks you how a helicopter works or who made the world-well, what are you to answer if you’re a Beta and have always worked in the Fertilizing Room? What are you to answer?”

Chapter Eight

Outside, in the dust and among the garbage, Bernard and John were walking slowly up and down.

“It’s as though we were living on different planets, in different centuries,” Bernard was saying. “A mother, and all this dirt, and gods, and old age, and disease… It’s almost inconceivable. I shall never understand, unless you explain.”

“Explain what?”

“This.” He indicated the pueblo. “That. Everything. All your life.”

“But what is there to say?”

“From the beginning. As far back as you can remember.”

“As far back as I can remember.” John frowned. There was a long silence.

It was very hot. They had eaten a lot of tortillas and sweet corn. Linda said, “Come and lie down, Baby.” They lay down together in the big bed. “Sing,” and Linda sang. Her voice got fainter and fainter…

There was a loud noise, and he woke with a start. A man was saying something to Linda, and Linda was laughing. She had pulled the blanket up to her chin, but the man pulled it down again. His hair was like two black ropes, and round his arm was a lovely silver bracelet with blue stones in it. He was frightened; he hid his face against Linda’s body. Linda put her hand on him and he felt safer. She said to the man, “Not with John here.” The man looked at him, then again at Linda, and said a few words in a soft voice. Linda said, “No.” The man bent over the bed towards him. “No,” Linda said again, and he felt her hand squeezing him more tightly. “No, no!” But the man took hold of one of his arms, and it hurt. He screamed. The man put up his other hand and lifted him up. Linda was still holding him, still saying, “No, no.” The man said something short and angry, carried him across to the door, opened it, put him down on the floor in the middle of the other room, and went away, shutting the door behind him. He got up, he ran to the door. He could just reach the big wooden latch. He lifted it and pushed; but the door wouldn’t open. “Linda,” he shouted. She didn’t answer.

He remembered a huge room, rather dark; and there were big wooden things with strings fastened to them, and lots of women standing round them-making blankets, Linda said. Linda told him to sit in the corner with the other children, while she went and helped the women. He played with the little boys for a long time. Suddenly people started talking very loud, and there were the women pushing Linda away, and Linda was crying. She went to the door and he ran after her. He asked her why they were angry. “Because I broke something,” she said. When they got back to their house, Pope was waiting at the door. He had a big gourd full of something with a bad smell that burnt your mouth and made you cough. Linda drank some and Pope drank some, and then Linda laughed a lot and talked very loud; and then she and Pope went into the other room. When Pope went away, he went into the room. Linda was in bed and so fast asleep that he couldn’t wake her.

Pope used to come often. He said the stuff in the gourd was called mescal; but Linda said it ought to be called soma; only it made you feel ill afterwards. He hated Pope. He hated all the men who came to see Linda. One afternoon, he came back to the house and heard angry voices in the bedroom. They were women’s voices. Then suddenly, crash! something was upset; he heard people moving about quickly, and there was another crash and then a noise like hitting a mule; then Linda screamed. He ran in. Linda was on the bed. There was one woman holding her wrists. Another was lying across her legs, so that she couldn’t kick. The third was hitting her with a whip. Each time Linda screamed. He caught hold of the woman’s hand between his own and bit it with all his might. She cried out and gave him such a push that he fell down. While he was lying on the ground she hit him three times with the whip. Then she hit Linda again.

“Why did they want to hurt you, Linda?” he asked that night.

“I don’t know. How should I know? They say those men are their men,” she went on; and she did not seem to be talking to him at all; she seemed to be talking with someone inside herself.

“Oh, don’t cry, Linda. Don’t cry.”

He put his arm round her neck. Linda cried out. “My shoulder! Oh!” and pushed him away, hard. “Little idiot!” she shouted; and then, suddenly, she began to slap him. Slap, slap…

“Linda,” he cried out. “Oh, mother, don’t!”

“I’m not your mother. I won’t be your mother.”

“But, Linda… Oh!” She slapped him on the cheek.

He saw that she was going to hit him again, and lifted his arm to guard his face. “Oh, don’t, Linda, please don’t.”

“Little beast!” She pulled down his arm.

“Don’t, Linda.” He shut his eyes, expecting the blow.

But she didn’t hit him. After a little time, he opened his eyes again and saw that she was looking at him. He tried to smile at her. Suddenly she put her arms round him and kissed him again and again.

The happiest times were when she told him about the Other Place. “And you really can go flying, whenever you like?”

“Whenever you like.” And she would tell him about the lovely music and all the nice games you could play, and the delicious things to eat and drink, and the light that came when you pressed a little thing in the wall, and the pictures that you could hear and feel and smell, and how everybody was happy and no one was ever sad or angry, and everyone belonging to everyone else… He listened by the hour. And sometimes, when he and the other children were tired with too much playing, one of the old men of the pueblo would talk to them, in those other words, of the great Transformer of the World, and of the long fight between Right Hand and Left Hand, between Wet and Dry; of Awonawilona, who made a great fog by thinking in the night, and then made the whole world out of the fog; of Earth Mother and Sky Father; of Jesus and Pookong. Lying in bed, he would think of Heaven and London and Our Lady of Acoma and the rows and rows of babies in clean bottles and Jesus flying up and Linda flying up and the great Director of World Hatcheries and Awonawilona.

Lots of men came to see Linda. The boys began to point their fingers at him. In the strange other words they said that Linda was bad; they called her names he did not understand. One day they sang a song about her, again and again. He threw stones at them. They threw back; a sharp stone cut his cheek. The blood wouldn’t stop; he was covered with blood.

Linda taught him to read. With a piece of charcoal she drew pictures on the wall-an animal sitting down, a baby inside a bottle; then she wrote letters. THE CAT IS ON THE MAT THE TOT IS IN THE POT. He learned quickly and easily. When he knew how to read all the words she wrote on the wall, Linda opened her big wooden box and pulled out a thin little book. “I’m afraid you won’t find it very exciting,” she said. “But it’s the only thing I have.” He began reading. The Chemical and Bacteriological Conditioning of the Embryo. Practical Instructions for Beta Embryo-Store Workers. It took him a quarter of an hour to read the title alone.

The boys still sang their horrible song about Linda. Sometimes, too, they laughed at him for being so ragged. When he tore his clothes, Linda did not know how to mend them. “Rags, rags!” the boys used to shout at him. “But I can read,” he said to himself, “and they can’t. They don’t even know what reading is.” He asked Linda to give him the book again.

The more the boys pointed and sang, the harder he read. Soon he could read all the words quite well. Even the longest. But what did they mean?

“What are chemicals?” he would ask Linda.

“Oh, stuff like magnesium salts, and alcohol for keeping the Deltas and Epsilons small and backward, and calcium carbonate for bones, and all that sort of thing.”

“But how do you make chemicals, Linda? Where do they come from?”

“Well, I don’t know. You get them out of bottles. And when the bottles are empty, you send up to the Chemical Store for more. It’s the Chemical Store people who make them, I suppose. I don’t know. I never did any chemistry. My job was always with the embryos.”

It was the same with everything else he asked about. Linda never seemed to know. The old men of the pueblo had much more definite answers.

“The seed of men and all creatures, the seed of the sun and the seed of earth and the seed of the sky-Awonawilona made them all out of the Fog of Increase. Now the world has four wombs; and he laid the seeds in the lowest of the four wombs. And gradually the seeds began to grow…”

One day (John calculated later that it must have been soon after his twelfth birthday) he came home and found a book that he had never seen before lying on the floor in the bedroom. It was a thick book and looked very old. The binding had been eaten by mice; some of its pages were loose and crumpled. He picked it up, looked at the title-page: the book was called The Complete Works of William Shakespeare.

Linda was lying on the bed, sipping that horrible stinking mescal out of a cup. “Pope brought it,” she said. “It was lying in one of the chests of the Antelope Kiva. It’s supposed to have been there for hundreds of years. Seems to be full of nonsense. Still, it’ll be good enough for you to practice your reading on.”

He opened the book at random.

Nay, but to liveIn the rank sweat of an enseamed bed,Stew’d in corruption, honeying and making loveOver the nasty sty…

The strange words rolled through his mind; rumbled, like thunder; like the drums at the summer dances; like old Mitsima saying magic over his feathers and his carved sticks-but better, because it meant more, because it talked to him, about Linda; about Linda lying there snoring, with the empty cup on the floor beside the bed; about Linda and Pope, Linda and Pope.

He hated Pope more and more. The magic of the words was strong and went on rumbling in his head, and somehow it was as though he had never really hated Pope before; never really hated him because he had never been able to say how much he hated him. But now he had these words. These words and the strange, strange story out of which they were taken-they gave him a reason for hating Pope; and they made his hatred more real.

One day, when he came in from playing, the door of the inner room was open, and he saw them lying together on the bed, asleep. Pope’s gourd and a cup were standing on the floor near the bed.

He felt empty. Empty, and cold, and rather sick. He leaned against the wall to steady himself. Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous… Like drums, the words repeated and repeated themselves in his head. He ground his teeth. “I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him,” he kept saying. And suddenly there were more words.

When he is drunk asleep, or in his rageOr in the incestuous pleasure of his bed…

The magic was on his side, the magic explained and gave orders. He stepped back in the outer room. He picked up a knife for the meat and tiptoed to the door again. “When he is drunk asleep, drunk asleep…” He ran across the room and stabbed-oh, the blood! – stabbed again, as Pope heaved out of his sleep, lifted his hand to stab once more, but found his wrist caught, held and-oh, oh! – twisted. He couldn’t move, he was trapped, and there were Pope’s small black eyes, very close, staring into his own. He looked away. There were two cuts on Pope’s left shoulder. “Oh, look at the blood!” Linda was crying. Pope lifted his other hand-to strike him, he thought. He stiffened to receive the blow. But the hand only took him under the chin and turned his face, so that he had to look again into Pope’s eyes. For a long time, for hours and hours. And suddenly-he couldn’t help it-he began to cry. Pope burst out laughing. “Go,” he said, in the other Indian words. “Go, my brave Ahaiyuta.” He ran out into the other room to hide his tears.

“You are fifteen,” said old Mitsima, in the Indian words. “Now I may teach you to work the clay.”

Squatting by the river, they worked together.

“First of all,” said Mitsima, taking a lump of clay between his hands, “we make a little moon.” The old man squeezed the lump into a disk, then bent up the edges, the moon became a shallow cup.

Slowly he imitated the old man’s delicate gestures.

“A moon, a cup, and now a snake.” Mitsima rolled out another piece of clay into a long cylinder, shaped it into a circle and pressed it on to the rim of the cup. “Then another snake. And another. And another.” Round by round, Mitsima built up the sides of the pot. At last there it stood, in shape the familiar water pot of Malpais, but creamy white instead of black, and still soft to the touch. The crooked parody of Mitsima’s, his own stood beside it.

“But the next one will be better,” he said, and began to moisten another piece of clay.

They worked all day, and all day he was filled with an intense, absorbing happiness.

“Next winter,” said old Mitsima, “I will teach you to make the bow.”

He stood for a long time outside the house, and at last the ceremonies within were finished. The door opened; they came out. Kothlu came first, his right hand outstretched and tightly closed, as though over some precious jewel. Her clenched hand similarly outstretched, Kiakime followed. They walked in silence, and in silence, behind them, came the brothers and sisters and cousins and all the troop of old people.

They walked out of the pueblo, across the mesa. At the edge of the cliff they halted, facing the early morning sun. Kothlu opened his hand. A pinch of corn meal lay white on the palm; he breathed on it, murmured a few words, then threw it, a handful of white dust, towards the sun. Kiakime did the same. Then Kiakime’s father stepped forward, and holding up a feathered prayer stick, made a long prayer, then threw the stick after the corn meal.

“It is finished,” said old Mitsima in a loud voice. “They are married.”

“Well,” said Linda, as they turned away, “all I can say is, it does seem a lot of fuss. In civilized countries, when a boy wants to have a girl, he just… But where are you going, John?”

He paid no attention to her calling, but ran on, away, away, anywhere to be by himself.

It is finished. Old Mitsima’s words repeated themselves in his mind. Finished, finished… In silence and from a long way off[32], but violently, desperately, hopelessly, he had loved Kiakime. And now it was finished. He was sixteen.

At the full moon, in the Antelope Kiva, secrets would be told. They would go down, boys, into the kiva and come out again, men. The boys were all afraid and at the same time impatient. He went with the others. Men were standing at the entrance to the kiva; the ladder went down into the depths. The leading boys begun to climb down. Suddenly, one of the men stepped forward, caught him by the arm, and pulled him out of the ranks. He broke free and tried to get back into his place among the others. This time the man struck him, pulled his hair. “Not for you, white-hair!” “Not for the son of the she-dog,” said one of the other men. The boys laughed. “Go!” One of them bent down, took a stone, threw it. There was a shower of stones. Bleeding, he ran away into the darkness.

He was all alone, outside the pueblo, on the bare plain of the mesa. Down in the valley, the coyotes were howling at the moon. The bruises hurt him, the cuts were still bleeding. He cried because he was all alone, because he had been driven out. At the edge of the precipice he sat down. The moon was behind him. He had only to take one step, one little jump… He held out his right hand in the moonlight. From the cut on his wrist the blood was still oozing. Every few seconds a drop fell, dark in the dead light. Drop, drop, drop. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow… He had discovered Time and Death and God.

“Alone, always alone,” the young man was saying.

The words echoed in Bernard’s mind. Alone, alone… “So am I,” he said. “Terribly alone.”

“Are you?” John looked surprised. “I thought that in the Other Place… I mean, Linda always said that nobody was ever alone there.”

Bernard blushed uncomfortably. “You see, I’m rather different from most people, I suppose…”

“Yes, that’s just it.” The young man nodded. “If one’s different, one’s bound to be lonely. Do you know, they shut me out of absolutely everything? Once,” he went on, “I did something that none of the others did: I stood against a rock in the middle of the day, in summer, with my arms out, like Jesus on the Cross.”

“What on earth for?”

“I wanted to know what it was like being crucified.”

“But why?”

“Why?” He hesitated. “Because I felt I ought to. If Jesus could stand it. And then, if one has done something wrong… Besides, I was unhappy; that was another reason.”

“It seems a funny way of curing your unhappiness,” said Bernard.

“I fainted after a time,” said the young man. “Fell down on my face.”

“I wonder if you’d like to come back to London with us?” Bernard asked, making the first move in a campaign whose strategy he had been secretly elaborating ever since he had realized who the “father” of this young savage must be. “Would you like that?”

The young man’s face lit up. “Do you really mean it?”

“Of course; if I can get permission, that is.”

“Linda too?”

“Well…” He hesitated doubtfully. That revolting creature! No, it was impossible. Unless, unless… It suddenly occurred to Bernard that her very revoltingness might prove an enormous asset. “But of course!” he cried.

The young man drew a deep breath. “To think it should be coming true-what I’ve dreamt of all my life. Do you remember what Miranda says?”

“Who’s Miranda?”

But the young man had evidently not heard the question. “O wonder!” he was saying. “How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is!” The flush suddenly deepened; he was thinking of Lenina, of an angel in bottle-green viscose. His voice faltered. “O brave new world,” he began, then suddenly interrupted himself; the blood had left his cheeks; he was as pale as paper.

“Are you married to her?” he asked.

“Am I what?”

“Married. You know-for ever. They say ‘for ever’ in the Indian words; it can’t be broken.”

“Ford, no!” Bernard couldn’t help laughing.

John also laughed, but for another reason-laughed for pure joy.

“O brave new world,” he repeated. “O brave new world that has such people in it. Let’s start at once.”

“You have a most peculiar way of talking sometimes,” said Bernard. “And hadn’t you better wait till you actually see the new world?”

Chapter Nine

Lenina felt herself entitled[33], after this day of horror, to a complete and absolute holiday. As soon as they got back to the rest-house, she swallowed six half-gramme tablets of soma, lay down on her bed, and within ten minutes had embarked for lunar eternity. It would be eighteen hours at the least before she was awake again.

Bernard meanwhile lay awake in the dark. It was long after midnight before he fell asleep. He had a plan.

On the following morning, at ten o’clock, the green-uniformed octoroon stepped out of his helicopter. Bernard was waiting for him.

“Miss Crowne’s gone on soma-holiday,” he explained. “Can hardly be back before five. Which leaves us seven hours.”

He could fly to Santa Fe, do all the business he had to do, and be in Malpais again long before she woke up.

“She’ll be quite safe here by herself?”

“Safe as helicopters,” the octoroon assured him.

They climbed into the machine and started off at once. At ten thirty-four they landed on the roof of the Santa Fe Post Office; at ten thirty-seven Bernard had got through to the World Controller’s Office in Whitehall; at ten thirty-seven he was speaking to his fordship’s fourth personal secretary; at ten forty-four he was repeating his story to the first secretary, and at ten forty-seven and a half it was the deep, resonant voice of Mustapha Mond himself that sounded in his ears.

“I think,” stammered Bernard, “that your fordship might find the matter interesting…”

“Yes, I do find it interesting,” said the deep voice. “Bring these two individuals back to London with you.”

“Your fordship is aware that I shall need a special permit…”

“The necessary orders are being sent to the Warden of the Reservation at this moment. You will proceed at once to the Warden’s Office. Good-morning, Mr. Marx.”

There was silence. Bernard hung up the receiver and hurried up to the roof.

At ten fifty-four he was shaking hands with the Warden.

“Delighted, Mr. Marx, delighted.” His boom was deferential. “We have just received special orders…”

“I know,” said Bernard, interrupting him. “If you’ll kindly take all the necessary steps as soon as possible.”

At eleven three he had all the necessary papers in his pocket.

He walked across to the hotel, had a bath, a vibro-vac massage, and a shave, listened in to the morning’s news, had lunch, and at half-past two flew back to Malpais.

The young man stood outside the rest-house.

“Bernard,” he called. “Bernard!” There was no answer.

He ran up the steps and tried the door. The door was locked.

They were gone! Gone! It was the most terrible thing that had ever happened to him. She had asked him to come and see them, and now they were gone. He sat down on the steps and cried.

Half an hour later it occurred to him to look through the window. The first thing he saw was a green suitcase, with the initials L.C. painted on the lid. He picked up a stone and smashed the window glass. A moment later he was inside the room. He opened the green suitcase; and all at once he smelled Lenina’s perfume. Bending over the precious box, he touched, he lifted into the light, he examined. The zippers on Lenina’s spare pair of shorts were at first a puzzle, then a delight. Zip, and then zip; zip, and then zip; he was enchanted. He opened a small box and a cloud of scented powder came out. Delicious perfume! He wiped the powder on his chest, on his shoulders, on his bare arms. “Lenina,” he whispered. “Lenina!”

A noise made him start[34]. He quickly put everything back and shut the lid of the suitcase; then listened again. Not a sign of life, not a sound. And yet he had certainly heard something. He tiptoed to the door and, cautiously opening it, found himself looking on to a broad landing. On the opposite side of the landing was another door. He stepped out and opened it.

There, on a low bed, lay Lenina, fast asleep and so beautiful in the midst of her curls.

Very carefully-even though nothing short of a pistol shot could have woken Lenina up-he entered the room and knelt on the floor beside the bed. He looked at her. “Her eyes,” he murmured,

“Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice;Handiest in thy discourse O! that her hand,In whose comparison all whites are inkWriting their own reproach; to whose soft seizureThe cygnet’s down is harsh…”

A fly buzzed round her; he waved it away. “Flies,” he remembered,

“On the white wonder of dear Juliet’s hand, may seizeAnd steal immortal blessing from her lips,Who, even in pure and vestal modesty,Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin.”

Very slowly, with the hesitating gesture, he put out his hand. It hung there trembling, within an inch of her limp fingers. Did he dare? No, he didn’t. His hand dropped back. How beautiful she was! How beautiful!

Then suddenly he found himself thinking that he only had to take hold of the zipper at her neck and give one long, strong pull… He shut his eyes and shook his head. Detestable thought! He was ashamed of himself.

There was a humming in the air, growing louder and louder. The plane! In a panic, he scrambled to his feet and ran into the other room, vaulted through the open window, and hurrying along the path between the tall agaves was in time to meet Bernard Marx as he climbed out of the helicopter.

Chapter Ten

The Director’s face, as he entered the Fertilizing Room with Henry Foster, was grave.

“A public example,” he was saying. “In this room, because it contains more high-caste workers than any other in the Centre. I have told him to meet me here at half-past two.”

“He does his work very well,” put in Henry, with hypocritical generosity.

“I know. But that’s all the more reason[35] for severity. He has moral responsibilities. The greater a man’s talents, the greater his power to lead astray. It is better that one should suffer than that many should be corrupted. No offence is so heinous as unorthodoxy of behaviour. Unorthodoxy threatens more than the life of a mere individual; it strikes at Society itself. Ah, but here he comes.”

Bernard had entered the room and was advancing between the rows of fertilizers towards them. He was nervous; the voice in which he said, “Good morning, Director,” was absurdly too loud. Trying to correct himself, he said, “You asked me to come and speak to you here,” in a ridiculously soft squeak.

“Yes, Mr. Marx,” said the Director. “I did ask you to come to me here. You returned from your holiday last night, I understand.”

“Yes,” Bernard answered.

“Yes-s,” repeated the Director, lingering, like a serpent, on the “s.” Then, suddenly raising his voice, “Ladies and gentlemen,” he trumpeted, “ladies and gentlemen.”

The workers of the Fertilizing Room stopped and started to look around.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the Director repeated once more, “excuse me for interrupting. A painful duty constrains me. The security and stability of Society are in danger. Yes, in danger, ladies and gentlemen. This man,” he pointed accusingly at Bernard, “this man who stands before you here, this Alpha-Plus to whom so much has been given, has grossly betrayed the trust imposed in him. By his heretical views on sport and soma, by the scandalous unorthodoxy of his sex-life, by his refusal to obey the teachings of Our Ford and behave out of office hours, he has proved himself an enemy of Society. For this reason I propose to dismiss him; I propose to apply for his transference to a Сentre of the lowest order. In Iceland he will have small opportunity to lead others astray by his example.” The Director paused; then, folding his arms, he turned impressively to Bernard. “Marx,” he said, “can you show any reason why I should not now execute the judgment passed upon you?”

“Yes, I can,” Bernard answered in a very loud voice.

Somewhat taken aback, but still majestically, “Then show it,” said the Director.

“Certainly. But it’s in the passage. One moment.” Bernard hurried to the door and threw it open. “Come in,” he commanded.

There was a gasp, a murmur of horror; a young girl screamed. Bloated, sagging, Linda advanced into the room, smiling her broken and discoloured smile. Bernard walked beside her.

“There he is,” he said, pointing at the Director.

“Did you think I didn’t recognize him?” Linda asked indignantly; then, turning to the Director, “Of course I knew you; Tomakin, I should have known you anywhere, among a thousand. But perhaps you’ve forgotten me. Don’t you remember? Don’t you remember, Tomakin? Your Linda.” She stood looking at him, still smiling, but with a smile that became progressively, less and less self-confident. “Don’t you remember, Tomakin?” she repeated in a trembling voice. Her eyes were anxious. Her face twisted into the grimace of extreme grief. “Tomakin!” She held out her arms. Someone began to titter.

“What’s the meaning,” began the Director, “of this monstrous…”

“Tomakin!” She ran forward and threw her arms round his neck, hiding her face on his chest.

A howl of laughter went up from the workers.

“… this monstrous practical joke,” the Director shouted.

Red in the face, he tried to pull away. “But I’m Linda, I’m Linda.” The laughter drowned her voice. “You made me have a baby,” she screamed above the uproar. There was a sudden and appalling hush. The Director went suddenly pale, stopped struggling and stared down at her, horrified. “Yes, a baby-and I was its mother.” She broke away from him, ashamed, and covered her face with her hands. “It wasn’t my fault, Tomakin. Because I always did my drill, didn’t I? Didn’t I? Always… I don’t know how… If you knew how awful, Tomakin… But he was a comfort to me, all the same.” She turned towards the door and called, “John!”

He came in at once, paused for a moment, looked around the room, then quickly walked towards the Director, fell on his knees and said in a clear voice: “My father!”

The word was comically smutty. Laughter broke out, enormous, almost hysterical. My father-and it was the Director! My father! Oh Ford, oh Ford! That was really too good. My father!

Pale, wild-eyed, the Director glared about him[36] in an agony of bewildered humiliation.

My father! The laughter, which had shown signs of dying away, broke out again more loudly than ever. He put his hands over his ears and rushed out of the room.

Chapter Eleven

After the scene in the Fertilizing Room, all upper-caste London was wild to see this weird creature who had fallen on his knees before the Director of Hatcheries and Conditioning-or rather the ex-Director, for the poor man had resigned immediately afterwards-had flopped down and called him (the joke was almost too good to be true!) “my father.” At the same time, nobody wanted to see Linda. To say one was a mother – that was past a joke[37]: it was an obscenity. Moreover, she wasn’t a real savage-she had been hatched out of a bottle and conditioned like anyone else. Finally, there was her appearance. Fat; having lost her youth; with bad teeth, and a blotched complexion-you simply couldn’t look at her without feeling sick. So people were quite determined not to see Linda. And Linda had no desire to see them. The return to civilization was for her the return to soma. The holiday it gave was perfect. Greedily she clamoured for ever larger, ever more frequent doses. Dr. Shaw at first resisted; then let her have what she wanted. She took as much as twenty grammes a day.

“Which will finish her off[38] in a month or two,” the doctor told Bernard. “One day the respiratory centre will be paralyzed. No more breathing. Finished. And a good thing too.”

Surprisingly, as everyone thought, John raised objections.

“But aren’t you shortening her life by giving her so much?”

“In one sense, yes,” Dr. Shaw admitted. “But in another we’re actually lengthening it.” The young man stared, uncomprehending. “Soma may make you lose a few years in time,” the doctor went on. “But think of the immeasurable durations it can give you out of time. Every soma-holiday is like an eternity.”

John began to understand. “Eternity was in our lips and eyes,” he murmured.

“Eh?”

“Nothing.”

“Of course,” Dr. Shaw went on, “you can’t allow people to go popping off into eternity if they’ve got any serious work to do. But as she hasn’t got any serious work…”

“All the same,” John persisted, “I don’t believe it’s right.”

But in the end, John was forced to give in. Linda got her soma. She remained in her little room on the thirty-seventh floor of Bernard’s apartment house, in bed, with the radio and television always on, and the patchouli tap just dripping, and the soma tablets within reach.

“I’m very glad,” Dr. Shaw had concluded, “to have had this opportunity to see an example of senility in a human being. Thank you so much for calling me in.” He shook Bernard warmly by the hand.

It was John, then, they were all after. And as it was only through Bernard, that John could be seen, Bernard now found himself, for the first time in his life, treated not merely normally, but as a person of outstanding importance. There was no more talk of the alcohol in his blood-surrogate. Henry Foster went out of his way to be friendly; Benito Hoover made him a present of six packets of sex-hormone chewing-gum; the Assistant Predestinator came out and asked almost abjectly for an invitation to one of Bernard’s evening parties. As for the women, Bernard had only to hint at the possibility of an invitation, and he could have whichever of them he liked.

“And I had six girls last week,” he confided to Helmholtz Watson. “One on Monday, two on Tuesday, two more on Friday, and one on Saturday. And if I’d had the time or the inclination, there were at least a dozen more who were only too anxious…”

Helmholtz listened to his boastings in a silence so disapproving that Bernard was offended.

“You’re envious,” he said.

Helmholtz shook his head. “I’m rather sad, that’s all,” he answered.

Bernard went off in a huff[39]. Never, he told himself, never would he speak to Helmholtz again.

The days passed. Success went to Bernard’s head, and in the process completely reconciled him (as any good intoxicant should do) to a world which, up till then, he had found very unsatisfactory. As long as it recognized him as important, all was good. But, he refused to quit criticizing its order. The act of criticizing made him feel important, and he did genuinely believe that there were things to criticize. But behind his back people shook their heads. “That young man will come to a bad end,” they said. “He won’t find another Savage to help him out a second time.” Meanwhile, however, while there was the first Savage, they were polite.

“Lighter than air,” said Bernard, pointing upwards.

The Weather Department’s captive balloon shone in the sunshine high above them.

Bernard’s instructions were to show the Savage all aspects of civilized life.

He was being shown a bird’s-eye view of it at present, from the platform of the Charing-T Tower. The Station Master and the Resident Meteorologist were acting as guides. But it was Bernard who did most of the talking.

The Bombay Green Rocket dropped out of the sky. The passengers got off. Eight identical Dravidian twins in khaki looked out of the eight portholes of the cabin-the stewards.

“Twelve hundred and fifty kilometres an hour,” said the Station Master impressively. “What do you think of that, Mr. Savage?”

John thought it very nice. “Still,” he said, “Ariel could put a girdle round the earth in forty minutes.”

“The Savage,” wrote Bernard in his report to Mustapha Mond, “shows surprisingly little astonishment at civilized inventions. This is partly due, no doubt, to the fact that he has heard about them from the woman Linda, his m-”

(Mustapha Mond frowned. “Does the fool think I’m too squeamish to read the full word?”)

“Partly on his interest in what he calls ‘the soul,’ which he keeps calling an entity independent of the physical environment, even though I tried to point out to him…”

The Controller skipped the next sentences and was just about to turn the page in search of something more concrete, when something on the page caught his eye. “… though I must admit,” he read, “that I agree with the Savage in finding civilized infantility too easy; and I would like to take this opportunity of drawing your fordship’s attention to…”

This angered Mustapha Mond. The idea of this creature lecturing him-him-about the social order was really too grotesque. “I ought to give him a lesson,” he said to himself.

It was a small factory of lighting-sets for helicopters, a branch of the Electrical Equipment Corporation. They were met on the roof by the Chief Technician and the Human Element Manager. They walked downstairs into the factory.

“Each process,” explained the Human Element Manager, “is carried out, so far as possible, by a single Bokanovsky Group.”

Here, eighty-three black Deltas were cold-pressing. Machines were being manipulated by fifty-six aquiline and ginger Gammas. One hundred and seven heat-conditioned Epsilon Senegalese were working in the foundry. Thirty-three Delta females, long-headed, sandy, with narrow pelvises, were cutting screws. In the assembling room, the dynamos were being put together by two sets of Gamma-Plus dwarfs.

“O brave new world…” The Savage found himself repeating Miranda’s words. “O brave new world that has such people in it.”

“And I assure you,” the Human Element Manager concluded, as they left the factory, “we hardly ever have any trouble with our workers. We always find…”

But the Savage had suddenly broken away from his companions and was violently retching behind a clump of laurels.

“The Savage,” wrote Bernard, “refuses to take soma, and seems much distressed because of the woman Linda, his m-, remains permanently on holiday. In spite of his m-’s senility and her repulsive appearance, the Savage often goes to see her and appears to be very attached to her. This is an interesting example of early conditioning overriding natural impulses (in this case, the impulse to recoil from an unpleasant object).”

At Eton they alighted on the roof of Upper School.

Dr. Gaffney, the Provost, and Miss Keate, the Head Mistress, met them as they stepped out of the plane.

“Do you have many twins here?” the Savage asked rather apprehensively, as they set out on their tour of inspection.

“Oh, no,” the Provost answered. “Eton is reserved exclusively for upper-caste boys and girls. One egg, one adult. It makes education more difficult of course.” He sighed.

They spent five minutes in an Alpha Double Plus classroom, which left John a bit bewildered.

“What is elementary relativity?” he whispered to Bernard. Bernard tried to explain, then suggested that they should go to some other classroom.

From behind a door in the corridor leading to the Beta-Minus geography room, a ringing soprano voice called, “One, two, three, four,” and then, with a weary impatience, “As you were.”

“Malthusian Drill,” explained the Head Mistress. “Most of our girls are freemartins, of course. But we have about eight hundred unsterilized ones who need constant drilling.”

In the Beta-Minus geography room John learned that “a savage reservation is a place which, because of its bad climatic or geological conditions, or poverty of natural resources, has not been worth the expense of civilizing[40].” A click; the room went dark; and suddenly, on the screen above the Master’s head, there were the Penitentes of Acoma prostrating themselves before Our Lady, wailing, confessing their sins before Jesus on the Cross, before the eagle image of Pookong. The young Etonians laughed. The Penitentes rose to their feet, stripped off their upper garments and, with knotted whips, began to beat themselves, blow after blow. The laughter became louder.

“But why do they laugh?” asked the Savage in a pained bewilderment.

“Why? But because it’s so extraordinarily funny.”

Once the light turned back on, Miss Keate suggested that they move on and moved towards the door.

“And this,” said the Provost a moment later, “is Hypnopaedic Control Room.”

Hundreds of synthetic music boxes, one for each dormitory, stood on the shelves round three sides of the room. On the fourth wall there were the paper soundtrack rolls on which the various hypnopaedic lessons were printed.

“You slip the roll in here,” explained Bernard, interrupting Dr. Gaffney, “press down this switch…”

“No, that one,” corrected the Provost, annoyed.

“That one, then. The roll unwinds. The selenium cells transform the light impulses into sound waves, and there you are.”

“Do they read Shakespeare?” asked the Savage as they walked, on their way to the Bio-chemical Laboratories, past the School Library.

“Certainly not,” said the Head Mistress, blushing.

“Our library,” said Dr. Gaffney, “contains only books of reference. If our young people need distraction, they can get it at the feelies.”

Five buses full of boys and girls rolled past them over the highway.

“Just returned,” explained Dr. Gaffney, “from the Slough Crematorium. Death conditioning begins at eighteen months. Every child spends two mornings a week in a Hospital for the Dying. They learn to take dying as a matter of course.”

“Like any other physiological process,” put in the Head Mistress professionally.

On their way back to London they stopped at the Television Corporation’s factory at Brentford.

“Do you mind waiting here a moment while I make a call?” asked Bernard.

The Savage waited and watched. The Main Day-Shift was just going off duty. Lower-caste workers were queued up in front of the monorail station-seven or eight hundred Gamma, Delta and Epsilon men and women. To each of them, with his or her ticket, the booking clerk pushed over a little cardboard pillbox.

“What’s in those” (remembering The Merchant of Venice) “those caskets?” the Savage asked when Bernard had rejoined him.

“The day’s soma ration,” Bernard answered. “They get it after their work’s over. Four half-gramme tablets. Six on Saturdays.”

He took John’s arm affectionately and they walked back towards the helicopter.

Lenina came singing into the Changing Room.

“You seem very pleased with yourself,” said Fanny.

“I am pleased,” she answered. “Bernard asked me if I’d take the Savage to the feelies this evening. I must fly.” She hurried away towards the bathroom.

“She’s a lucky girl,” Fanny said to herself as she watched Lenina go.

Good-natured Fanny was merely stating a fact. Lenina was lucky; lucky in having shared with Bernard a generous portion of the Savage’s immense celebrity. Had not the Secretary of the Young Women’s Fordian Association asked her to give a lecture about her experiences? Had she not been invited to the Annual Dinner of the Aphroditeum Club? Had she not already appeared in the Feelytone News-visibly, audibly and tactually, to countless millions all over the planet?

“It’s wonderful, of course. And yet,” said Lenina, “I feel as though I were getting something on false pretences[41]. Because, of course, the first thing they all want to know is what it’s like to make love to a Savage. And I don’t know. Most of the men don’t believe me, but it’s true. I wish it weren’t,” she added sadly. “He’s terribly good-looking; don’t you think so?”

“But doesn’t he like you?” asked Fanny.

“Sometimes I think he does and sometimes I think he doesn’t. He always does his best to avoid me. But sometimes I catch him staring. Well, you know how men look when they like you. I can’t make it out.”

She was rather upset.

“Because, you see, Fanny, I like him.”

Liked him more and more. Well, now there’d be a real chance, she thought, as she scented herself after her bath.

The scent organ was playing a delightfully refreshing melody-rippling arpeggios of thyme and lavender, of rosemary, basil, myrtle, tarragon.

Sunk in their pneumatic stalls, Lenina and the Savage sniffed and listened. It was now the turn also for eyes and skin.

The house lights went down. “Take hold of those metal knobs on the arms of your chair,” whispered Lenina. “Otherwise you won’t get any of the feely effects.”

The Savage did as he was told.

There were ten seconds of complete darkness; then suddenly, dazzling and incomparably more solid-looking than they would have seemed in actual flesh and blood, far more real than reality, there stood the stereoscopic images, locked in one another’s arms, of a gigantic negro and a golden-haired young Beta-Plus female.

The Savage started. That sensation on his lips! He lifted a hand to his mouth; it stopped; let his hand fall back on the metal knob; it began again. The scent organ, meanwhile, breathed pure musk. The stereoscopic lips came together again, and once more the facial erogenous zones of the six thousand spectators tingled with almost intolerable pleasure.

The plot of the film was extremely simple. A few minutes after the first scene, the negro had a helicopter accident, fell on his head. The concussion knocked his conditioning out. He developed an exclusive and maniacal passion for the Beta blonde. She protested. He persisted. There were struggles, pursuits, an assault on a rival, finally a sensational kidnapping. Finally, after a whole series of adventures three handsome young Alphas succeeded in rescuing her. The film ended happily and decorously, with the Beta blonde becoming the mistress of all her three rescuers. The last stereoscopic kiss faded into darkness, the last electric sensation died on the lips like a dying moth that quivers, quivers, and at last is quiet, quite still.

But for Lenina the moth did not completely die. Even after the lights had gone up, while they were walking along with the crowd towards the lifts, its ghost still fluttered against her lips. She caught hold of the Savage’s arm and pressed it against her side. He looked down at her for a moment, pale, desiring, and ashamed of his desire. He was not worthy, not… Their eyes for a moment met. What treasures hers promised! Hastily he looked away, took away his arm.

“I don’t think you ought to see things like that,” he said.

“Things like what, John?”

“Like this horrible film.”

“Horrible?” Lenina was genuinely astonished. “But I thought it was lovely.”

“It was base,” he said indignantly, “ignoble.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know what you mean.” Why was he so queer? Why did he go out of his way to spoil things?

In the taxicopter he hardly even looked at her. Bound by strong vows that had never been pronounced, he sat in silence. Sometimes, his whole body would shake with a sudden nervous start.

The taxicopter landed on the roof of Lenina’s apartment house. “At last,” she thought as she stepped out of the cab. Standing under a lamp, she peered into her hand mirror. At last. She thought: “He’s terribly good-looking. No need for him to be shy like Bernard. Well, now at last.”

“Good-night,” said a strangled voice behind her. Lenina turned round. He was standing in the doorway of the cab, his eyes staring. “Good-night, Lenina,” he repeated, and made a strange grimacing attempt to smile.

“But, John… I thought you were… I mean, aren’t you?…”

He shut the door and bent forward to say something to the driver. The cab shot up into the air.

Five minutes later he was back in his room. From its hiding-place he took out his volume, turned with religious care its stained and crumbled pages, and began to read Othello. Othello, he remembered, was like the hero of Three Weeks in a Helicopter-a black man.

Drying her eyes, Lenina walked across the roof to the lift. On her way down to the twenty-seventh floor she pulled out her soma bottle. She thought about the dose and shook out three half-gramme tablets into her palm.

Chapter Twelve

Bernard had to shout through the locked door; the Savage would not open.

“But everybody’s there, waiting for you.”

“Let them wait,” came back the muffled voice.

“But I asked them on purpose to meet you.”

“You ought to have asked me first whether I wanted to meet them.”

“But you always came before, John.”

“That’s precisely why I don’t want to come again.”

“Won’t you come to please me?”

“No.”

“Do you seriously mean it?”

“Yes.”

Despairingly, “But what shall I do?” Bernard wailed.

“Go to hell!” came the exasperated voice from within.

“But the Arch-Community-Songster of Canterbury is there tonight.” Bernard was almost in tears.

“Ai yaa takwa!” It was only in Zuni that the Savage could adequately express what he felt about the Arch-Community-Songster. “Hani!” he added as an after-thought; and then “Sons eso tse-na.” And he spat on the ground, as Pope might have done.

In the end Bernard had to go back to his rooms and inform the impatient assembly that the Savage would not be appearing that evening. The news was received poorly. The men were furious at having been tricked into behaving politely to this insignificant fellow with the unsavoury reputation.

“To play such a joke on me,” the Arch-Songster kept repeating, “on me!”

As for the women, they felt that they had been had on false pretences-had by a wretched little man who had had alcohol poured into his bottle by mistake-by a creature with a Gamma-Minus physique. It was an outrage.

Lenina alone said nothing. Pale, her blue eyes clouded with melancholy, she sat in a corner. She had come to the party hoping to see the Savage. “In a few minutes,” she had said to herself, as she entered the room, “I shall be seeing him, talking to him, telling him that I like him-more than anybody I’ve ever known. And then perhaps he’ll say…”

It was at this moment that Bernard had made his announcement; the Savage wasn’t coming to the party.

Lenina suddenly felt a sense of dreadful emptiness and nausea. Her heart seemed to stop beating.

“Perhaps it’s because he doesn’t like me,” she said to herself. And at once she became sure of it. John refused to see her because he didn’t like her.

People at the party were gossiping about Bernard and the alcohol rumors. Pierced by every word that was spoken, Bernard’s happy self-confidence was gone. Pale, distraught and agitated, he moved among his guests, stammering incoherent apologies, assuring them that next time the Savage would certainly be there. They were either rude to his face or talked to one another about him, loudly and offensively, as though he had not been there.

“And now, my friends,” said the Arch-Community-Songster of Canterbury, “I think perhaps the time has come…” He rose, put down his glass, and walked towards the door.

Bernard darted forward to intercept him.

“Must you really, Arch-Songster?… It’s very early still. I’d hoped you would…”

“My young friend,” said the Arch-Community-Songster. “Let me give you a word of advice.” He wagged his finger at Bernard. “Before it’s too late. Mend your ways, my young friend, mend your ways.” He made the sign of the T over him and turned away. “Lenina, my dear,” he called in another tone. “Come with me.”

Obediently, but unsmiling, Lenina walked after him, out of the room. The other guests followed. Bernard was all alone.

Utterly deflated, he dropped into a chair and, covering his face with his hands, began to weep. A few minutes later, he took four tablets of soma.

Upstairs in his room the Savage was reading Romeo and Juliet.

Lenina and the Arch-Community-Songster stepped out on to the roof of Lambeth Palace. “Hurry up, my young friend-I mean, Lenina,” called the Arch-Songster impatiently. Lenina came hurrying across the roof to rejoin him.

“A New Theory of Biology” was the title of the paper which Mustapha Mond had just finished reading. He sat for some time, frowning, then picked up his pen and wrote across the title-page: “The author’s mathematical treatment of the conception of purpose is novel and highly ingenious, but heretical. Not to be published.” He underlined the words. “The author will be kept under supervision. His transference to the Marine Biological Station of St. Helena may become necessary.” A pity, he thought, as he signed his name. It was a masterly piece of work.

With closed eyes, his face shining with rapture, John was softly declaiming:

“Oh! she doth teach the torches to burn bright.It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night,Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop’s ear;Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear…”

The golden T lay shining on Lenina’s bosom. The Arch-Community-Songster caught hold of it, and pulled, pulled. “I think,” said Lenina suddenly, breaking a long silence, “I’d better take a couple of grammes of soma.”

Next morning, when he took a taxi to his work at the Conditioning Centre, the intoxication of success from soma had evaporated; Bernard was his old self; and the old self seemed unprecedentedly heavier than the surrounding atmosphere.

To this deflated Bernard the Savage showed himself unexpectedly sympathetic.

“You’re more like what you were at Malpais,” he said. “Do you remember when we first talked together? Outside the little house. You’re like what you were then.”

“Because I’m unhappy again; that’s why.”

“Well, I’d rather be unhappy than have the sort of false, lying happiness you were having here.”

“I like that,” said Bernard bitterly. “When it’s you who were the cause of it all. Refusing to come to my party and so turning them all against me!” He knew that what he was saying was absurd in its injustice; he admitted it inwardly, and at last even aloud. But in spite of the fact that his friend’s support and sympathy were now his only comfort, Bernard continued to nourish, along with his quite genuine affection, a secret grievance against the Savage. Nourishing a grievance against the Arch-Community-Songster was useless. And the Savage was accessible.

Bernard’s other victim-friend was Helmholtz. When he came and asked once more for the friendship which, in his prosperity, he had not thought it worth his while to preserve, Helmholtz gave it; and gave it without a reproach, without a comment. Bernard felt touched and humiliated at the same time.

At their first meeting after the estrangement, Bernard poured out the tale of his miseries and accepted consolation. It was not till some days later that he learned, to his surprise and with a twinge of shame, that he was not the only one who had been in trouble. Helmholtz had also come into conflict with Authority.

“It was over some rhymes,” he explained. “I was giving my usual course of Advanced Emotional Engineering for Third Year Students. Twelve lectures, of which the seventh is about rhymes. ‘On the Use of Rhymes in Moral Propaganda and Advertisement,’ to be precise. I always illustrate my lecture with a lot of technical examples. This time I thought I’d give them one I’d just written myself. Couldn’t resist it.” He laughed. “I was curious to see what their reactions would be. What an outcry there was! The Principal had me up and threatened to hand me the immediate sack. I’m a marked man.”

“But what were your rhymes about?” Bernard asked.

“They were about being alone.”

Bernard’s eyebrows went up.

“I’ll recite them to you, if you like.” And Helmholtz began:

“Yesterday’s committee,Sticks, but a broken drum,Midnight in the City,Flutes in a vacuum,Shut lips, sleeping faces,Every stopped machine,The dumb and littered placesWhere crowds have been:…All silences rejoice,Weep (loudly or low),Speak-but with the voiceOf whom, I do not know.Absence, say, of Susan’s,Absence of Egeria’sArms and respective bosoms,Lips and, ah, posteriors,Slowly form a presence;Whose? and, I ask, of whatSo absurd an essence,That something, which is not,Nevertheless should populateEmpty night more solidlyThan that with which we copulate,Why should it seem so squalidly?

Well, I gave them that as an example, and they reported me to the Principal.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Bernard. “It’s against all their sleep-teaching. Remember, they’ve had at least a quarter of a million warnings against solitude.”

“I know. But I thought I’d like to see what the effect would be.”

“Well, you’ve seen now.”

Helmholtz only laughed. “I feel,” he said, after a silence, “as though I were just beginning to have something to write about. Something seems to be coming to me.” In spite of all his troubles, he seemed, to Bernard, happy.

Helmholtz and the Savage liked each other at once. Bernard even felt jealous. Watching them, listening to their talk, he found himself sometimes wishing that he had never brought them together. He was ashamed of his jealousy and alternately made efforts of will and took soma to keep himself from feeling it.

At his third meeting with the Savage, Helmholtz read his rhymes on Solitude.

“What do you think of them?” he asked when he had done.

The Savage shook his head. “Listen to this,” was his answer; and unlocking the drawer in which he kept his book, he opened and read:

“Let the bird of loudest layOn the sole Arabian tree,Herald sad and trumpet be…”

Helmholtz listened with a growing excitement. Every line had him feel new emotions. The Savage read on:

“Property was thus appall’d,That the self was not the same;Single nature’s double nameNeither two nor one was call’dReason in itself confoundedSaw division grow together…”

“Orgy-porgy!” said Bernard, interrupting them with a loud, unpleasant laugh. “It’s just a Solidarity Service hymn.” This was his revenge on his friends for liking one another more than they liked him.

In the course of their next two or three meetings he frequently repeated this little act of vengeance. It was simple and extremely effective. In the end, Helmholtz threatened to kick him out of the room. And yet, strangely enough, the next interruption, the most disgraceful of all, came from Helmholtz himself.

The Savage was reading Romeo and Juliet aloud. Helmholtz had listened to the scene of the lovers’ first meeting with a puzzled interest. The scene in the orchard had delighted him with its poetry, but the story made him smile. Getting into such a state about having a girl-it seemed ridiculous. But what a superb piece of emotional engineering! “That old fellow,” he said, “he makes our best propaganda technicians look absolutely silly.” The Savage smiled triumphantly and resumed his reading. All went tolerably well until, in the last scene of the third act, Capulet and Lady Capulet began to bully Juliet to marry Paris. When Juliet cried out:

“Is there no pity sitting in the clouds,That sees into the bottom of my grief?O sweet my mother, cast me not away:Delay this marriage for a month, a week;Or, if you do not, make the bridal bedIn that dim monument where Tybalt lies…”

Helmholtz broke out in an explosion of laughter.

The mother and father (grotesque obscenity) forcing the daughter to have someone she didn’t want! And the idiotic girl not saying that she was having someone else whom she preferred! It was comical. He laughed and laughed till the tears streamed down his face-the Savage looked at him over the top of his book and then, as the laughter still continued, closed it, got up and, with the gesture of one who removes his pearl from before swine, locked it away in its drawer.

“And yet,” said Helmholtz later, once he recovered his breath enough to apologize, and tried to make the Savage listen to his explanations, “I know that one needs ridiculous, mad situations like that; one can’t write really well about anything else. But fathers and mothers!” He shook his head. “You can’t expect me to keep a straight face about fathers and mothers. And who’s going to get excited about a boy having a girl or not having her?” (The Savage winced; but Helmholtz, who was staring at the floor, saw nothing.) “No.” he concluded, with a sigh, “it won’t do. We need some other kind of madness and violence. But what? What? Where can one find it?” He was silent; then, shaking his head, “I don’t know,” he said at last, “I don’t know.”

Chapter Thirteen

Henry Foster walked up to her at the Embryo Store.

“Like to come to a feely this evening?”

Lenina shook her head without speaking.

“Going out with someone else?” He wanted to know which of his friends was being had by which other.

She shook her head again.

Henry detected the weariness in her eyes, the sadness at the corners of the unsmiling mouth. “You’re not feeling ill, are you?” he asked, a bit anxiously, afraid that she might be suffering from one of the few remaining infectious diseases.

Yet once more Lenina shook her head.

“Anyhow, you ought to go and see the doctor,” said Henry. “Perhaps you need a Pregnancy Substitute,” he suggested. “Or an extra-strong V.P.S. treatment. Sometimes, you know, the standard passion surrogate isn’t quite…”

“Oh, for Ford’s sake,” said Lenina, breaking her stubborn silence, “shut up!” And then turned back to her neglected embryos.

An hour later, in the Changing Room, Fanny was energetically protesting. “But it’s absurd to let yourself get into a state like this. Simply absurd,” she repeated. “And what about? A man-one man.”

“But he’s the one I want.”

“As though there weren’t millions of other men in the world.”

“But I don’t want them.”

“How can you know till you’ve tried?”

“I have tried.”

“But how many?” asked Fanny, shrugging her shoulders. “One, two?”

“Dozens. But it wasn’t any good.”

“Well, don’t think of him.”

“I can’t help it.”

“Take soma, then.”

“I do. But in the intervals I still like him. I shall always like him.”

“Well, if that’s the case,” said Fanny, with decision, “why don’t you just go and take him. Whether he wants it or no.”

“But if you knew how terribly queer he was!”

“All the more reason[42] for taking a firm line.”

“It’s all very well to say that.”

“Act.” Fanny’s voice was a trumpet. “Yes, act-at once. Do it now.”

“I’d be scared,” said Lenina

“Well, you’ve only got to take half a gramme of soma first. And now I’m going to have my bath.” She marched off, trailing her towel.

The bell rang, and the Savage, who was impatiently hoping that Helmholtz would come that afternoon, jumped up and ran to the door.

“I had a premonition it was you, Helmholtz,” he shouted as he opened.

On the threshold stood Lenina.

“Oh!” said the Savage, as though someone had struck him a heavy blow.

Half a gramme had been enough to make Lenina forget her fears and her embarrassments. “Hullo, John,” she said, smiling, and walked past him into the room. Automatically he closed the door and followed her. Lenina sat down. There was a long silence.

“You don’t seem very glad to see me, John,” she said at last.

“Not glad?” The Savage looked at her; then suddenly fell on his knees before her and, taking Lenina’s hand, kissed it. “Not glad? Oh, if you only knew,” he whispered and raised his eyes to her face. She smiled at him with a luscious tenderness. “Oh, you so perfect”. She was leaning towards him with parted lips, nearer and nearer. The Savage suddenly scrambled to his feet. “I wanted to do something first… I mean, to show I was worthy of you. Not that I could ever really be that. But at any rate to show I wasn’t absolutely unworthy. I wanted to do something.”

“Why should you think it necessary…” Lenina began, but left the sentence unfinished. There was a note of irritation in her voice. When one has leant forward, nearer and nearer, with parted lips-only to find oneself, quite suddenly, leaning towards nothing at all-well, there was a reason for genuine annoyance.

“At Malpais,” the Savage was mumbling, “you had to bring her the skin of a mountain lion-I mean, when you wanted to marry someone. Or else a wolf.”

“There aren’t any lions in England,” Lenina said.

“I’ll do anything,” he went on, more and more incoherently. “Anything you tell me. I mean I’d sweep the floor if you wanted.”

“But we’ve got vacuum cleaners here,” said Lenina in bewilderment. “It isn’t necessary.”

“No, of course it isn’t necessary. But I’d do it. Don’t you see?”

“But if there are vacuum cleaners…”

“That’s not the point.”

“And Epsilon Semi-Morons to work them,” she went on, “well, really, why?”

“Why? For you. Just to show that I…”

“And what on earth vacuum cleaners have got to do with lions…”

“To show how much…”

“Or lions with being glad to see me…” She was getting more and more exasperated.

“How much I love you, Lenina,” he brought out almost desperately.

Blood rushed up into Lenina’s cheeks. “Do you mean it, John?”

“But I hadn’t meant to say so,” cried the Savage, clasping his hands in a kind of agony. “Not until… Listen, Lenina; in Malpais people get married.”

“Get what?” The irritation had begun to creep back into her voice. What was he talking about now?

“For always. They make a promise to live together for always.”

“What a horrible idea!” Lenina was genuinely shocked.

“It’s like that in Shakespeare too. ‘If thou cost break her virgin knot before all sanctimonious ceremonies may with full and holy rite…’”

“For Ford’s sake, John, talk sense. I can’t understand a word you say. First it’s vacuum cleaners; then it’s knots. You’re driving me crazy.” She jumped up and caught him by the wrist. “Answer me this question: do you really like me, or don’t you?”

There was a moment’s silence; then, in a very low voice, “I love you more than anything in the world,” he said.

“Then why on earth didn’t you say so?” she cried. “Instead of mumbling about knots and vacuum cleaners and lions, and making me miserable for weeks and weeks.”

And suddenly her arms were round his neck; he felt her lips soft against his own. So deliciously soft, so warm and electric that inevitably he found himself thinking of the embraces in Three Weeks in a Helicopter. He tried to disengage himself; but Lenina tightened her embrace.

“Why didn’t you say so?” she whispered, drawing back her face to look at him. Her eyes were tenderly reproachful. “I wanted you so much. And if you wanted me too, why didn’t you?…”

“But, Lenina…” he began protesting. Then she untwined her arms and stepped away from him. He thought, for a moment, that she had taken his unspoken hint. But when she unbuckled her white cartridge belt and hung it carefully over the back of a chair, he began to suspect that he had been mistaken.

“Lenina!” he repeated apprehensively.

She put her hand to her neck and gave a long vertical pull; her white sailor’s blouse was ripped to the hem. His suspicion condensed into a solid certainty. “Lenina, what are you doing?”

Zip, zip! Her answer was wordless. She stepped out of her bell-bottomed trousers. Her zippicamiknicks were a pale shell pink. Zip! The rounded pinkness fell apart like a neatly divided apple. A wriggle of the arms, a lifting first of the right foot, then the left: the zippicamiknicks were lying lifeless and as though deflated on the floor.

Still wearing her shoes and socks, and her tilted round white cap, she advanced towards him. “Darling. Darling! If only you’d said so before!” She held out her arms.

But instead of also saying “Darling!” and holding out his arms, the Savage retreated in terror, flapping his hands at her as though he were trying to scare away some intruding and dangerous animal. Four backwards steps, and he was stopped by a wall.

“Sweet!” said Lenina and, laying her hands on his shoulders, pressed herself against him. “Put your arms round me,” she commanded. “Hug me till you drug me, honey. Kiss me”; she closed her eyes and let her voice sink to a sleepy murmur, “Kiss me till I’m in a coma. Hug me, honey, snuggly…”

The Savage caught her by the wrists, tore her hands from his shoulders, thrust her roughly away at arm’s length.

“Ow, you’re hurting me, you’re… oh!” She was suddenly silent. Terror had made her forget the pain. Opening her eyes, she saw his face-no, not his face, a ferocious stranger’s, pale, twitching with fury. Aghast, “But what is it, John?” she whispered. He did not answer, but only stared into her face with those mad eyes. The hands that held her wrists were trembling. He breathed deeply and irregularly. She suddenly heard the grinding of his teeth. “What is it?” she almost screamed.

And as though awakened by her cry he caught her by the shoulders and shook her. “Whore!” he shouted “Whore! Impudent strumpet!”

“Oh, don’t, do-on’t,” she protested.

“Whore!”

“Plea-ease.”

“Damned whore!”

“A gra-amme is be-etter…” she began.

The Savage pushed her away with such force that she staggered and fell. “Go,” he shouted, standing over her menacingly, “get out of my sight or I’ll kill you.” He clenched his fists.

Lenina raised her arm to cover her face. “No, please don’t, John…”

“Go!”

One arm still raised, and following his every movement with her eyes, she scrambled to her feet and still crouching, still covering her head, made a dash for the bathroom.

Outside, in the other room, the Savage was striding up and down, marching, marching to the drums. “Down from the waist they are Centaurs, though women all above. But to the girdle do the gods inherit. Beneath is all the fiend’s. There’s hell, there’s darkness, there is the sulphurous pit, burning, scalding, stench, consumption; fie, fie, fie, pah, pah!”

“John!” called a small voice from the bathroom. “John!”

“O thou weed, who are so lovely fair and smell’st so sweet that the sense aches at thee. Was this most goodly book made to write ‘whore’ upon? Heaven stops the nose at it…”

But her perfume still hung about him. “Impudent strumpet, impudent strumpet, impudent strumpet.” The rhythm beat itself out. “Impudent…”

“John, do you think I might have my clothes?”

He picked up the bell-bottomed trousers, the blouse, the zippicamiknicks.

“Open!” he ordered, kicking the door.

“No, I won’t.” The voice was frightened and defiant.

“Well, how do you expect me to give them to you?”

“Push them through the ventilator over the door.”

He did what she suggested and returned to his uneasy pacing of the room.

“John.”

He would not answer.

“John.”

“What is it?” he asked gruffly.

“I wonder if you’d mind giving me my Malthusian belt.”

Lenina sat, listening to the footsteps in the other room, wondering, as she listened, how long he was likely to be doing that; whether she would have to wait until he left the flat; or if it would be safe, after allowing his madness a reasonable time to subside, to open the bathroom door and make a dash for it.

She was interrupted by the sound of the telephone bell ringing in the other room. The footsteps stopped. She heard the voice of the Savage.

“Hullo.”

…

“Yes.”

…

“If I do not usurp myself, I am.”

…

“Yes, didn’t you hear me say so? Mr. Savage speaking.”

…

“What? Who’s ill? Of course it interests me.”

…

“But is it serious? Is she really bad? I’ll go at once…”

…

“Not in her rooms anymore? Where has she been taken?”

…

“Oh, my God! What’s the address?”

…

“Three Park Lane-is that it? Three? Thanks.”

Lenina heard the click of the replaced receiver, then hurrying steps. A door slammed. There was silence. Was he really gone?

Cautiously she opened the door a quarter of an inch; peeped through the crack; was encouraged by the view of emptiness; opened a little further, and put her whole head out; finally tiptoed into the room; stood for a few seconds with strongly beating heart, listening; then darted to the front door, opened, slipped through, slammed, ran. It was not till she was in the lift that she began to feel herself secure.

Chapter Fourteen

The Park Lane Hospital for the Dying was a sixty-story tower. At the lift gates the porter gave Savage the information he required, and he dropped down to Ward 81 (a Galloping Senility ward, the porter explained) on the seventeenth floor.

It was a large room bright with sunshine and yellow paint, and containing twenty beds, all occupied. Linda was dying in company and with all the modern conveniences. The air was continuously alive with synthetic melodies. At the foot of every bed was a television box. It was left on from morning till night. “We try,” explained the nurse to the Savage, “we try to create a thoroughly pleasant atmosphere here.”

“Where is she?” asked the Savage, ignoring these polite explanations.

The nurse was offended. “You are in a hurry,” she said.

“Is there any hope?” he asked.

“You mean, of her not dying?” (He nodded.) “No, of course there isn’t. When somebody’s sent here, there’s no…” Startled by the expression of distress on his pale face, she stopped. “Why, whatever is the matter?” she asked.

He shook his head. “She’s my mother,” he said in a scarcely audible voice.

The nurse glanced at him with horrified eyes; then quickly looked away.

“Take me to her,” said the Savage, making an effort to speak in an ordinary tone.

She led the way down the ward. Young faces (for senility galloped so hard that it had no time to age the cheeks-only the heart and brain) turned as they passed. The Savage shuddered as he looked.

Linda was lying in the last of the long row of beds, next to the wall. She was watching the Semi-finals of the South American Riemann-Surface Tennis Championship. Linda looked on, vaguely and uncomprehendingly smiling. Her pale, bloated face wore an expression of imbecile happiness. Every now and then her eyelids closed, and for a few seconds she seemed to be dozing. Then with a little start she would wake up again.

“Well, I must go,” said the nurse. “I’ve got my batch of children coming. Besides, there’s Number 3.” She pointed up the ward. “Might go off any minute now. Well, make yourself comfortable.” She walked briskly away.

The Savage sat down beside the bed.

“Linda,” he whispered, taking her hand.

At the sound of her name, she turned. Her vague eyes brightened with recognition. She squeezed his hand, she smiled, her lips moved; then quite suddenly her head fell forward. She was asleep. He sat watching her-seeking through the tired flesh, seeking and finding that young, bright face which had stooped over his childhood in Malpais, remembering her voice, her movements, all the events of their life together. How beautiful her singing had been! And those childish rhymes, how magically strange and mysterious!

He felt the hot tears welling up behind his eyelids. And then the reading lessons. And long evenings by the fire or, in summertime, on the roof of the little house, when she told him those stories about the Other Place, outside the Reservation: that beautiful, beautiful Other Place, whose memory, he still kept whole and intact, undefiled by contact with the reality of the real London.

A sudden noise of shrill voices made him open his eyes and look round. A stream of identical eight-year-old male twins was pouring into the room. Twin after twin, twin after twin. Their uniform was khaki. They swarmed between the beds, clambered over, crawled under, peeped into the television boxes, made faces at the patients. Linda astonished and rather alarmed them. A group stood clustered at the foot of her bed, staring at her.

“Oh, look, look!” They spoke in low, scared voices. “Whatever is the matter with her? Why is she so fat?”

They had never seen a face like hers before. At forty-four, Linda seemed a monster of flaccid and distorted senility.

“Isn’t she awful?” came the whispered comments. “Look at her teeth!”

Suddenly from under the bed a twin popped up between John’s chair and the wall, and began peering into Linda’s sleeping face.

“I say…” he began; but the sentence ended prematurely in a squeal. The Savage took him by the collar, lifted him up sent him howling away.

His yells brought the Head Nurse hurrying to the rescue.

“What have you been doing to him?” she demanded fiercely. “I won’t have you striking the children.”

“Well then, keep them away from this bed.” The Savage’s voice was trembling with indignation. “What are these filthy little brats doing here at all? It’s disgraceful!”

“Disgraceful? But what do you mean? They’re being death-conditioned. And if interfere again, I’ll send for the porters to throw you out.”

The Savage rose to his feet and took a couple of steps towards her. His movements and the expression on his face were so menacing that the nurse fell back in terror. With a great effort he checked himself and, without speaking, turned away and sat down again by the bed.

Reassured, but still uncertain, “I’ve warned you,” said the nurse, “so mind.” Still, she led the twins away and made them join in the game of hunt-the-zipper at the other end of the room.

Linda had stirred uneasily, had opened her eyes for a moment, looked vaguely around, and then once more dropped off to sleep. Sitting beside her, the Savage tried hard to recapture his mood of a few minutes before. The beautiful memories refused to rise; there was only a hateful resurrection of jealousies and uglinesses and miseries. Pope with the blood trickling down from his cut shoulder; and Linda hideously asleep, and the flies buzzing round; and the boys calling those names as she passed… Ah, no, no! He shut his eyes and shook his head. He tried to think of those times when he sat on her knees and she put her arms about him and sang, over and over again, rocking him to sleep.

Linda stirred, woke up, stared for a few seconds at the television box, then, lifting her face, sniffed once or twice at the newly perfumed air and suddenly smiled.

“Pope!” she murmured, and closed her eyes. “Oh, I do so like it, I do…” She sighed and let herself sink back into the pillows.

“But, Linda!” The Savage spoke, “Don’t you know me?” He had tried so hard, had done his very best; why wouldn’t she allow him to forget? He squeezed her limp hand almost with violence, as though he would force her to come back from this dream to reality. “Don’t you know me, Linda?”

He felt the faint answering pressure of her hand. The tears started into his eyes. He bent over her and kissed her.

Her lips moved. “Pope!” she whispered again.

Anger suddenly boiled up in him.

“But I’m John!” he shouted. “I’m John!” And in his furious misery he actually caught her by the shoulder and shook her.

Linda’s eyes fluttered open; she saw him, knew him-“John!”-but situated the real face in an imaginary world. She knew him for John, her son, but thought he was an intruder into that paradisal Malpais where she had been spending her soma-holiday with Pope. He was angry because she liked Pope, he was shaking her because Pope was there in the bed-as though there were something wrong, as though all civilized people didn’t do the same. “Everyone belongs to every…” Her voice suddenly died. Her mouth fell open: she made a desperate effort to fill her lungs with air. But it was as though she had forgotten how to breathe.

The Savage was on his feet, bent over her. “What is it, Linda? What is it?”

The look she gave him was charged with an unspeakable terror-with terror and, it seemed to him, reproach. She tried to raise herself in bed, but fell back on to the pillows. Her face was horribly distorted, her lips blue.

The Savage turned and ran up the ward.

“Quick, quick!” he shouted. “Quick!”

The Head Nurse looked round. “Don’t shout! Think of the little ones,” she said, frowning. “You might decondition… But what are you doing? Be careful!”

“Quick, quick!” He caught her by the sleeve, dragged her after him. “Quick! Something’s happened. I’ve killed her.”

By the time they were back at the end of the ward Linda was dead.

The Savage stood for a moment in frozen silence, then fell on his knees beside the bed and, covering his face with his hands, sobbed uncontrollably.

The nurse stood looking now at the kneeling figure by the bed (the scandalous exhibition!) and now (poor children!) at the twins who were staring from the other end of the ward. Should she speak to him? remind him of where he was? of what he might’ve done to these poor innocents? Undoing all their death-conditioning with this disgusting outcry-as though death were something terrible.

She stepped forward, she touched him on the shoulder. “Can’t you behave?” she said in a low, angry voice. Looking around, she saw that half a dozen twins were already on their feet and advancing down the ward.

“Now, who wants a chocolate eclair?” she asked in a loud, cheerful tone.

“Me!” yelled the entire Bokanovsky Group in chorus. Bed 20 was completely forgotten.

“Oh, God, God, God…” the Savage kept repeating to himself.

“Whatever is he saying?” said a voice, very near, distinct and shrill.

The Savage violently started and looked round. Five khaki twins, each with the stump of a long eclair in his right hand, were standing in a row, looking at him.

“Is she dead?” one of them asked.

The Savage stared at them for a moment in silence. Then in silence he rose to his feet, in silence slowly walked towards the door.

“Is she dead?” repeated the inquisitive twin walking at his side.

The Savage looked down at him and still without speaking pushed him away. The twin fell on the floor and at once began to cry. The Savage did not even look round.

Chapter Fifteen

The menial staff of the Park Lane Hospital for the Dying consisted of one hundred and sixty-two Deltas; two groups of female and male twins. At six, when their working day was over, they assembled in the hall of the Hospital and were served their soma ration.

From the lift the Savage stepped out into the midst of them. His mind was elsewhere-with death, with his grief, and his remorse; mechanically, he began to shoulder his way through the crowd.

“Who are you pushing? Where do you think you’re going?”

High, low, from a multitude of separate throats, only two voices talked around him. Only two faces, one hairless and freckled, haloed in orange, the other thin, stubbly with two days’ beard, turned angrily towards him. Their words and the sharp nudging of their elbows, broke through his unawareness. He woke once more to external reality. Twins, twins… He halted and, with bewildered and horrified eyes, stared round him at the khaki mob, in the midst of which he stood. “How many goodly creatures are there here!” The singing words mocked him. “How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world…”

“Soma distribution!” shouted a loud voice. “In good order, please. Hurry up there.”

A door had been opened, a table and chair carried into the hall. A young Alpha entered, carrying a black iron cash-box. The twins forgot all about the Savage. Their attention was now focused on the black cash-box, which the young man had placed on the table, and was now in process of unlocking. The lid was lifted.

“Oo-oh!” said all the hundred and sixty-two simultaneously, as though they were looking at fireworks.

The young man took out a handful of tiny pill-boxes. “Now,” he said, “step forward, please. One at a time, and no shoving.”

One at a time, with no shoving, the twins stepped forward. First two males, then a female, then another male, then three females, then…

The Savage stood looking on. “O brave new world, O brave new world…” In his mind the singing words seemed to change their tone. They had mocked him through his misery and remorse. It was a challenge, a command.

Linda had been a slave, Linda had died; others should live in freedom, and the world be made beautiful. A reparation, a duty. And suddenly it was clear to the Savage what he must do; it was as though a curtain was drawn back.

“Stop!” called the Savage in a loud and ringing voice. “Stop!”

He pushed his way to the table; the Deltas stared at him with astonishment.

“Listen, I beg of you,” cried the Savage earnestly. “Lend me your ears…” He had never spoken in public before, and found it very difficult to express what he wanted to say. “Don’t take that horrible stuff. It’s poison, it’s poison.”

“I say, Mr. Savage,” said the Deputy Sub-Bursar, who was overseeing the distribution. “Would you mind letting me…”

“Poison to soul as well as body.”

“Yes, but let me get on with it, won’t you? There’s a good fellow.” With the cautious tenderness of one who strokes a notoriously vicious animal, he patted the Savage’s arm. “Just let me…”

“Never!” cried the Savage.

“But look here, old man…”

“Throw it all away, that horrible poison.”

The words “Throw it all away” pierced through the layers of incomprehension to the Delta’s consciousness. An angry murmur went up from the crowd.

“I come to bring you freedom,” said the Savage, turning back towards the twins. “I come…”

The Deputy Sub-Bursar heard no more; he had slipped out of the vestibule and was looking up a number in the telephone book.

“Not in his own rooms,” Bernard summed up. “Not in mine, not in yours. Not at the Aphroditaum; not at the Centre or the College. Where can he have got to?”

Helmholtz shrugged his shoulders. They had come back from their work expecting to find the Savage waiting for them at one or other of the usual meeting-places, and there was no sign of the fellow.

“We’ll give him five more minutes,” said Helmholtz. “If he doesn’t turn up by then, we’ll…”

The ringing of the telephone bell interrupted him. He picked up the receiver. “Hullo. Speaking.” Then, after a long interval of listening, “I’ll come at once.””

“What is it?” Bernard asked.

“The Savage is at the Park Lane Hospital. Seems to have gone mad. It’s urgent. Will you come with me?”

Together they hurried along the corridor to the lifts.

“But do you like being slaves?” the Savage was saying as they entered the Hospital. His face was flushed, his eyes bright. “Don’t you want to be free? Don’t you even understand what manhood and freedom are?” Rage was making him fluent; the words came easily, in a rush. “Don’t you?” he repeated, but got no answer to his question. “Very well then,” he went on grimly. “I’ll teach you; I’ll make you be free whether you want to or not.” And pushing open a window that looked on to the inner court of the Hospital, he began to throw the little pill-boxes of soma tablets in handfuls out of the window.

For a moment the khaki mob was silent, petrified.

“He’s mad,” whispered Bernard, staring with wide open eyes. “They’ll kill him. They’ll…” A great shout suddenly went up from the mob; a wave of people moved towards the Savage. “Ford help him!” said Bernard, and averted his eyes.

“Ford helps those who help themselves.” And with a laugh, actually a laugh of exultation, Helmholtz Watson pushed his way through the crowd.

“Free, free!” the Savage shouted, and with one hand continued to throw the soma while, with the other, he punched the indistinguishable faces of his assailants. “Free!” And suddenly there was Helmholtz at his side-“Good old Helmholtz!”-also punching-and in the interval also throwing the poison out by handfuls through the open window. And then there was no more poison left. “You’re free!”

Howling, the Deltas charged with fury.

Hesitant on the fringes of the battle. “They’re done for,” said Bernard and, urged by a sudden impulse, ran forward to help them; then thought better of it and halted; then, ashamed, stepped forward again; then again thought better of it-thinking that they might be killed if he didn’t help them, and that he might be killed if he did-when (Ford be praised!), goggle-eyed and in their gas-masks, in ran the police.

Bernard dashed to meet them. He waved his arms; and it was action, he was doing something. He shouted “Help!” several times, more and more loudly so as to give himself the illusion of helping. “Help! Help! HELP!”

The policemen pushed him out of the way and got on with their work. Three men with spraying machines buckled to their shoulders pumped thick clouds of soma vapour into the air. Two more were busy round the portable Synthetic Music Box. Carrying water pistols charged with a powerful anaesthetic, four others had pushed their way into the crowd and were methodically laying out the more ferocious of the fighters.

“Quick, quick!” yelled Bernard. “They’ll be killed if you don’t hurry. They’ll… Oh!” Annoyed by his chatter, one of the policemen had given him a shot from his water pistol. Bernard stood for a second or two, and then tumbled onto the floor.

Suddenly, from out of the Synthetic Music Box a Voice began to speak. The Voice of Reason, the Voice of Good Feeling. “My friends, my friends!” said the Voice, so tender that, behind their gas masks, even the policemen’s eyes were momentarily dimmed with tears, “what is the meaning of this? Why aren’t you all being happy and good together? Happy and good,” the Voice repeated. “At peace, at peace.”

Two minutes later the Voice and the soma vapour had produced their effect. In tears, the Deltas were kissing and hugging one another-half a dozen twins in an embrace. Even Helmholtz and the Savage were almost crying. A fresh supply of pill-boxes was brought in. Once it was distributed, the twins dispersed.

When the last of the Deltas had gone the policeman switched off the Music Box. The angelic Voice fell silent.

“Will you come quietly?” asked the Sergeant, “or must we anaesthetize?” He pointed his water pistol menacingly.

“Oh, we’ll come quietly,” the Savage answered, dabbing alternately a cut lip, a scratched neck, and a bitten left hand.

Still keeping his handkerchief to his bleeding nose Helmholtz nodded in confirmation.

Awake and having recovered the use of his legs, Bernard had chosen to move as inconspicuously as he could towards the door.

“You there,” called the Sergeant, and one of the policeman hurried across the room and laid a hand on the young man’s shoulder.

Bernard turned with an expression of innocence. Escaping? He hadn’t dreamed of such a thing.

“You’re a friend of the prisoner’s, aren’t you?”

“Well…” said Bernard, and hesitated. No, he really couldn’t deny it. “Why shouldn’t I be?” he asked.

“Come on then,” said the Sergeant, and led him towards the door and the waiting police car.

Chapter Sixteen

The room into which the three were ushered was the Controller’s study.

“His fordship will be down in a moment.” The Gamma butler left them to themselves.

Helmholtz laughed aloud.

“It’s more like a caffeine-solution party than a trial,” he said, and let himself fall into the most luxurious arm-chair.

The Savage wandered restlessly round the room, looking at the books in the shelves and the sound-track rolls and reading machine bobbins.

The door opened, and the Resident World Controller for Western Europe walked into the room.

Mustapha Mond shook hands with all three of them; but it was to the Savage that he addressed himself. “So you don’t much like civilization, Mr. Savage,” he said.

The Savage looked at him. He had been prepared to lie or to remain sullenly unresponsive; but, reassured by the good-humoured intelligence of the Controller’s face, he decided to tell the truth, straightforwardly. “No.” He shook his head.

Bernard started and looked horrified. What would the Controller think? “But, John,” he began. A look from Mustapha Mond reduced him to an abject silence.

“Of course,” the Savage went on to admit, “there are some very nice things. All that music in the air, for instance…”

“Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments will hum about my ears and sometimes voices.”

The Savage’s face lit up with a sudden pleasure. “Have you read it too?” he asked. “I thought nobody knew about that book here, in England.”

“Almost nobody. I’m one of the very few. It’s prohibited, you see. But as I make the laws here, I can also break them.”

“But why is it prohibited?” asked the Savage.

The Controller shrugged his shoulders. “Because it’s old; that’s the chief reason. We haven’t any use for old things here.”

“Even when they’re beautiful?”

“Particularly when they’re beautiful. Beauty’s attractive, and we don’t want people to be attracted by old things. We want them to like the new ones.”

“But the new ones are so stupid and horrible. Those plays, where there’s nothing but helicopters flying and people kissing.” He made a grimace. “Why don’t you let them see Othello instead?”

“I’ve told you; it’s old. Besides, they couldn’t understand it.”

Yes, that was true. He remembered how Helmholtz had laughed at Romeo and Juliet. “Well then,” he said, after a pause, “something new that’s like Othello, and that they could understand.”

“That’s what we’ve all been wanting to write,” said Helmholtz, breaking a long silence.

“And it’s what you never will write,” said the Controller. “Because, if it were really like Othello nobody could understand it. And if were new, it couldn’t possibly be like Othello. Because our world is not the same as Othello’s world. You can’t make tragedies without social instability. And the world’s stable now. People are happy; they get what they want, and they never want what they can’t get. And if anything should go wrong, there’s soma. Which you go and chuck out of the window in the name of liberty, Mr. Savage. Liberty!” He laughed. “Expecting Deltas to know what liberty is! And now expecting them to understand Othello! My good boy!”

The Savage was silent for a little. “All the same,” he insisted, “Othello’s better than those feelies.”

“Of course it is,” the Controller agreed. “But that’s the price we have to pay for stability. You’ve got to choose between happiness and what people used to call high art. We’ve sacrificed the high art. We have the feelies and the scent organ instead.”

“But they don’t mean anything.”

“They mean a lot of agreeable sensations to the audience.”

“But they’re… they’re told by an idiot.”

The Controller laughed. “You’re not being very polite to your friend, Mr. Watson. One of our most distinguished Emotional Engineers…”

“But he’s right,” said Helmholtz gloomily. “Because it is idiotic. Writing when there’s nothing to say…”

“Precisely. But that requires the most enormous ingenuity. You’re making works of art out of practically nothing but pure sensation.”

The Savage shook his head. “It all seems to me quite horrible.”

“Of course it does. Actual happiness always looks bad in comparison with the over-compensations for misery. Happiness is never grand.”

“But does it have to be as bad as those twins?” He looked at his bandaged left hand and shuddered. “Horrible!”

“But how useful! I see you don’t like our Bokanovsky Groups; but, I assure you, they’re the foundation on which everything else is built.”

“I was wondering,” said the Savage, “why you had them at all-seeing that you can get whatever you want out of those bottles. Why don’t you make everybody an Alpha Double Plus while you’re about it?”

Mustapha Mond laughed. “Because we have no wish to have our throats cut,” he answered. “We believe in happiness and stability. A society of Alphas couldn’t fail to be unstable and miserable. Imagine a factory staffed by Alphas; unrelated individuals of good heredity and conditioned to be capable of making a free choice and assuming responsibilities. Imagine it!” he repeated.

The Savage tried to imagine it, not very successfully.

“It’s an absurdity. An Alpha-decanted, Alpha-conditioned man would go mad if he had to do Epsilon Semi-Moron work-go mad, or start smashing things up. You cannot pour upper-caste surrogate into lower-caste bottles. It’s obvious theoretically. But it has also been proved in actual practice. The result of the Cyprus experiment was convincing.”

“What was that?” asked the Savage.

Mustapha Mond smiled. “Well, you can call it an experiment in rebottling if you like. It began in A.F. 473. The Controllers had the island of Cyprus cleared of all its existing inhabitants and re-colonized with a specially prepared batch of twenty-two thousand Alphas. All agricultural and industrial equipment was handed over to them and they were left to manage their own affairs. The result exactly fulfilled all the theoretical predictions. The land wasn’t properly worked; there were strikes in all the factories; orders were disobeyed; all the people that were supposed to do low-grade work were always trying to get high-grade jobs, and all the people with high-grade jobs were trying at all costs to stay where they were. Within six years they were having a first-class civil war. When nineteen out of the twenty-two thousand had been killed, the survivors unanimously petitioned the World Controllers to resume the government of the island. Which they did. And that was the end of the only society of Alphas that the world has ever seen.”

The Savage sighed, profoundly.

“The optimum population,” said Mustapha Mond, “is modeled on the iceberg-eight-ninths below the water line, one-ninth above.”

“And they’re happy below the water line?”

“Happier than above it.”

“In spite of that awful work?”

“Awful? They don’t find it so. On the contrary, they like it. It’s light, it’s childishly simple. No strain on the mind or the muscles. Seven and a half hours of mild, unexhausting labour, and then the soma ration and games and unrestricted copulation and the feelies. What more can they ask for? True,” he added, “they might ask for shorter hours. And of course we could give them shorter hours. But would they be any happier? No, they wouldn’t. The experiment was tried, more than a century and a half ago. The whole of Ireland was put on to the four-hour day. What was the result? Unrest and a large increase in the consumption of soma; that was all. It’s the same with agriculture. We could synthesize every morsel of food, if we wanted to. But we don’t. We prefer to keep a third of the population on the land. For their own sakes-because it takes longer to get food out of the land than out of a factory. We have our stability to think of. We don’t want to change. Every change is a menace to stability. Even science must sometimes be treated as a possible enemy.”

Science? The Savage frowned. He knew the word but could not understand it.

“It isn’t only art that’s incompatible with happiness; it’s also science. Science is dangerous; we have to keep it most carefully chained and muzzled.”

“What?” said Helmholtz, in astonishment. “But we’re always saying that science is everything. It’s a hypnopaedic platitude.”

“Three times a week between thirteen and seventeen,” put in Bernard.

“And all the science propaganda we do at the College…”

“Yes; but what sort of science?” asked Mustapha Mond sarcastically. “You’ve had no scientific training, so you can’t judge. I was a pretty good physicist in my time. Too good-good enough to realize that all our science is just a cookery book, with an orthodox theory of cooking that nobody’s allowed to question. I’m the head cook now. I started doing a bit of cooking on my own. Unorthodox cooking, illicit cooking. A bit of real science, in fact.” He was silent.

“What happened?” asked Helmholtz Watson.

The Controller sighed. “Very nearly what’s going to happen to you, young men. I was on the point of being sent to an island.”

Bernard jumped up. “Send me to an island? You can’t send me. I haven’t done anything. It was the others. I swear it was the others.” He pointed accusingly to Helmholtz and the Savage. “Oh, please don’t send me to Iceland. I promise I’ll do what I ought to do. Give me another chance. Please give me another chance.” The tears began to flow. He threw himself on his knees before the Controller. Mustapha Mond tried to make him get up; but Bernard persisted in his groveling. In the end the Controller had to ring for his fourth secretary.

“Bring three men,” he ordered, “and take Mr. Marx into a bedroom. Give him a good soma vaporization and then put him to bed and leave him.”

The fourth secretary went out and returned with three green-uniformed twin footmen. Still shouting and sobbing, Bernard was carried out.

“One would think he was going to have his throat cut,” said the Controller, as the door closed. “Whereas, if he had the smallest sense, he’d understand that his punishment is really a reward. He’s being sent to an island. He’s being sent to a place where he’ll meet the most interesting set of men and women to be found anywhere in the world. All the people who, for one reason or another, have got too individual to fit into community-life. Every one, in a word, who’s any one. I almost envy you, Mr. Watson.”

Helmholtz laughed. “Then why aren’t you on an island yourself?”

“Because I preferred this,” the Controller answered. “I was given the choice: to be sent to an island, where I could have got on with my pure science, or to be taken on to the Controllers’ Council with the prospect of succeeding eventually to an actual Controllership. I chose this and let the science go.” He sighed, fell silent, then continued in a brisker tone, “Well, duty’s duty. One can’t consult one’s own preference. We can’t allow science to undo its own good work. That’s why we so carefully limit the scope of its researches-that’s why I almost got sent to an island. It’s curious,” he went on after a little pause, “to read what people in the time of Our Ford used to write about scientific progress. They seemed to have imagined that it could be allowed to go on indefinitely, regardless of everything else. Right up to the time of the Nine Years’ War. That made them change their tune[43]. What’s the point of truth or beauty or knowledge when the anthrax bombs are popping all around you? That was when science first began to be controlled-after the Nine Years’ War. People were ready to have even their appetites controlled then. Anything for a quiet life. We’ve gone on controlling ever since. It hasn’t been very good for truth, of course. But it’s been very good for happiness.”

“But you didn’t go to an island,” said the Savage, breaking a long silence.

The Controller smiled. “I chose to serve happiness. Other people’s-not mine. It’s lucky,” he added, after a pause, “that there are such a lot of islands in the world. I don’t know what we should do without them. By the way, Mr. Watson, would you like a tropical climate? The Marquesas[44], for example; or Samoa? Or something rather more bracing?”

Helmholtz rose from his chair. “I should like a thoroughly bad climate,” he answered. “I believe one would write better if the climate were bad. If there were a lot of wind and storms, for example…”

The Controller nodded. “I like your spirit, Mr. Watson. I like it very much indeed. As much as I officially disapprove of it.” He smiled. “What about the Falkland Islands?”

“Yes, I think that will do,” Helmholtz answered. “And now, if you don’t mind, I’ll go and see how poor Bernard’s getting on.”

Chapter Seventeen

“Art, science-you seem to have paid a fairly high price for your happiness,” said the Savage, when they were alone. “Anything else?”

“Well, religion, of course,” replied the Controller. “There used to be something called God-before the Nine Years’ War. But I was forgetting; you know all about God, I suppose.”

“Well…” The Savage hesitated. He would have liked to say something about solitude, about night, about death. He would have liked to speak; but there were no words. Not even in Shakespeare.

The Controller, meanwhile, had crossed to the other side of the room and was unlocking a large safe set into the wall between the bookshelves. The heavy door swung open. “It’s a subject,” he said, “that always held a great interest for me.” He pulled out a thick black volume. “You’ve never read this, for example.”

The Savage took it. “The Holy Bible, containing the Old and New Testaments,” he read aloud from the title-page.

“Nor this.” It was a small book without a cover.

“The Imitation of Christ.”

“Nor this.” He handed out another volume.

“The Varieties of Religious Experience. By William James.”

“And I’ve got plenty more,” Mustapha Mond continued, resuming his seat. “A whole collection. God in the safe and Ford on the shelves.” He pointed with a laugh to his avowed library.

“But if you know about God, why don’t you tell them?” asked the Savage. “Why don’t you give them these books about God?”

“For the same reason as we don’t give them Othello: they’re old; they’re about God hundreds of years ago. Not about God now.”

“But God doesn’t change.”

“Men do, though.”

“What difference does that make?”

“All the difference in the world,” said Mustapha Mond. He got up again and walked to the safe. “There was a man called Cardinal Newman,” he said. “A cardinal,” he exclaimed, “was a kind of Arch-Community-Songster.”

“‘I Pandulph, of fair Milan, cardinal.’ I’ve read about them in Shakespeare.”

“Of course you have. Well, as I was saying, there was a man called Cardinal Newman. Ah, here’s the book.” He pulled it out. “And I’ll take this one too. It’s by a man called Maine de Biran. I’ll read you one of the things he did dream of in a moment. Meanwhile, listen to what this old Arch-Community-Songster said.” He opened the book at the place marked by a slip of paper and began to read. “‘We are not our own any more than what we possess is our own. We did not make ourselves, we cannot be supreme over ourselves. We are not our own masters. We are God’s property.’” Mustapha Mond paused, put down the first book and, picking up the other, turned over the pages. “Take this, for example,” he said, and in his deep voice once more began to read: “‘A man grows old; he feels in himself that radical sense of weakness, of discomfort, which accompanies the advance of age; and, feeling thus, imagines himself merely sick, lulling his fears with the notion that this distressing condition is due to some particular cause, from which, as from an illness, he hopes to recover. Vain imaginings! That sickness is old age; and a horrible disease it is. They say that it is the fear of death and of what comes after death that makes men turn to religion as they advance in years. But my own experience has given me the conviction that, quite apart from any such terrors or imaginings, the religious sentiment tends to develop as we grow older.’” Mustapha Mond shut the book and leaned back in his chair. “One of the numerous things in heaven and earth that these philosophers didn’t dream about was this,” (he waved his hand), “us, the modern world. ‘You can only be independent of God while you’ve got youth and prosperity; independence won’t take you safely to the end.’ Well, we’ve now got youth and prosperity right up to the end. What follows? Evidently, that we can be independent of God. ‘The religious sentiment will compensate us for all our losses.’ But there aren’t any losses for us to compensate. And why should we go hunting for a substitute for youthful desires, when youthful desires never fail?”

“Then you think there is no God?”

“No, I think there quite probably is one.”

“Then why?…”

Mustapha Mond looked at him. “But he manifests himself in different ways to different men. In premodern times he manifested himself as the being that’s described in these books. Now…”

“How does he manifest himself now?” asked the Savage.

“Well, he manifests himself as an absence; as though he weren’t there at all.”

“That’s your fault.”

“Call it the fault of civilization. God isn’t compatible with machinery and scientific medicine and universal happiness. You must make your choice. Our civilization has chosen machinery and medicine and happiness…”

The Savage interrupted him. “But isn’t it natural to feel there’s a God? When you’re alone-quite alone, in the night, thinking about death…”

“But people are never alone now,” said Mustapha Mond. “We make them hate solitude; and we arrange their lives so that it’s almost impossible for them ever to have it.”

The Savage nodded gloomily. At Malpais he had suffered because they had shut him out from the communal activities, in civilized London he was suffering because he could never escape from those communal activities, never be quietly alone.

“Do you remember that bit in King Lear?” said the Savage at last. “‘The gods are just and of our pleasant vices make instruments to plague us; the dark and vicious place where thee he got cost him his eyes,’ and Edmund answers-you remember, he’s wounded, he’s dying-‘Thou hast spoken right; ‘tis true. The wheel has come full circle; I am here.’ What about that now? Doesn’t there seem to be a God-managing things, punishing, rewarding?”

“Well, does there?” questioned the Controller in his turn. “You can indulge in any number of pleasant vices with a freemartin and run no risks of having your eyes put out by your son’s mistress. ‘The wheel has come full circle; I am here.’ But where would Edmund be nowadays? Sitting in a pneumatic chair, with his arm round a girl’s waist, looking at the feelies. The gods are just. No doubt. But their code of law is dictated, in the last resort, by the people who organize society; Providence takes its cue from men.”

“Are you sure?” asked the Savage. “Are you quite sure that the Edmund in that pneumatic chair hasn’t been just as heavily punished as the Edmund who’s wounded and bleeding to death? The gods are just. Haven’t they used his pleasant vices as an instrument to degrade him?”

“Degrade him from what position? As a happy, hard-working, goods-consuming citizen he’s perfect. Of course, if you choose some other standard than ours, then perhaps you might say he was degraded. But you’ve got to stick to one set of rules.”

“If you allowed yourselves to think of God, you wouldn’t allow yourselves to be degraded by pleasant vices. You’d have a reason for bearing things patiently, for doing things with courage. I’ve seen it with the Indians.”

“But we aren’t Indians. There isn’t any need for a civilized man to bear anything that’s seriously unpleasant. And as for doing things-Ford forbid that he should get the idea into his head. It would upset the whole social order if men started doing things on their own.”

“What about self-denial, then? If you had a God, you’d have a reason for self-denial.”

“But industrial civilization is only possible when there’s no self-denial. Self-indulgence keeps the wheels turning.”

“You’d have a reason for chastity!” said the Savage, blushing a little as he spoke the words.

“But chastity means passion. And passion means instability. And instability means the end of civilization. You can’t have a lasting civilization without plenty of pleasant vices.”

“But God’s the reason for everything noble and fine and heroic. If you had a God…”

“My dear young friend,” said Mustapha Mond, “civilization has absolutely no need of nobility or heroism. These things are symptoms of political inefficiency. In a properly organized society like ours, nobody has any opportunities for being noble or heroic. Where there are wars, where there are divided allegiances, where there are temptations, objects of love to be fought for or defended-there, obviously, nobility and heroism have some sense. But there aren’t any wars nowadays. The greatest care is taken to prevent you from loving any one too much. There’s no such thing as a divided allegiance; you’re so conditioned that you can’t help doing what you ought to do. And there’s always soma to calm your anger, to reconcile you to your enemies, to make you patient. Christianity without tears-that’s what soma is.”

“But the tears are necessary. Don’t you remember what Othello said? ‘If after every tempest came such calms, may the winds blow till they have wakened death.’ There’s a story one of the old Indians used to tell us, about the Girl of Mataski. The young men who wanted to marry her had to do a morning’s hoeing in her garden. It seemed easy; but there were flies and mosquitoes, magic ones. Most of the young men simply couldn’t stand the biting and stinging. But the one that could-he got the girl.”

“Charming! But in civilized countries,” said the Controller, “you can have girls without hoeing for them, and there aren’t any flies or mosquitoes to sting you. We got rid of them all centuries ago.”

The Savage nodded, frowning. “You got rid of them. Yes, that’s just like you. Getting rid of everything unpleasant instead of learning to put up with it. You just abolish the slings and arrows. It’s too easy.”

He was suddenly silent, thinking of his mother. In her room on the thirty-seventh floor, Linda had floated in a sea of singing lights-floated away, out of space, out of time, out of the prison of her memories, her habits, her aged and bloated body. And Tomakin, ex-Director of Hatcheries and Conditioning, Tomakin was still on holiday-on holiday from humiliation and pain, in a world where he could not hear those words, that laughter, could not see that hideous face, feel those moist and flabby arms round his neck, in a beautiful world…

“What you need,” the Savage went on, “is something with tears for a change. Nothing costs enough here. Isn’t there something in living dangerously?”

“There’s a great deal in it,” the Controller replied. “Men and women must have their adrenals stimulated from time to time.”

“What?” asked the Savage, uncomprehending.

“It’s one of the conditions of perfect health. That’s why we’ve made the V.P.S. treatments compulsory.”

“V.P.S.?”

“Violent Passion Surrogate. Regularly once a month. We flood the whole system with adrenin. It’s the complete physiological equivalent of fear and rage. All the tonic effects of murdering Desdemona and being murdered by Othello, without any of the inconveniences.”

“But I like the inconveniences.”

“We don’t,” said the Controller. “We prefer to do things comfortably.”

“But I don’t want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin.”

“In fact,” said Mustapha Mond, “you’re claiming the right to be unhappy.”

“All right then,” said the Savage defiantly, “I’m claiming the right to be unhappy.”

“Not to mention the right to grow old and ugly and impotent; the right to have syphilis and cancer; the right to have too little to eat; the right to be lousy; the right to live in constant apprehension of what may happen tomorrow; the right to catch typhoid; the right to be tortured by unspeakable pains of every kind.”

There was a long silence.

“I claim them all,” said the Savage at last.

Mustapha Mond shrugged his shoulders. “You’re welcome,” he said.

Chapter Eighteen

The door was ajar; they entered.

“John!”

From the bathroom came an unpleasant and characteristic sound.

“Is there anything the matter?” Helmholtz called.

There was no answer. The unpleasant sound was repeated, twice; there was silence. Then, with a click the bathroom door opened and, very pale, the Savage emerged.

“I say,” Helmholtz exclaimed solicitously, “you do look ill, John!”

“Did you eat something that didn’t agree with you?” asked Bernard.

The Savage nodded. “I ate civilization.”

“What?”

“It poisoned me; I was defiled. And then,” he added, in a lower tone, “I ate my own wickedness.”

“Yes, but what exactly?… I mean, just now you

were…”

“Now I am purified,” said the Savage. “I drank some mustard and warm water.”

The others stared at him in astonishment. “Do you mean to say that you were doing it on purpose?” asked Bernard.

“That’s how the Indians always purify themselves.” He sat down and, sighing, passed his hand across his forehead. “I shall rest for a few minutes,” he said. “I’m rather tired.”

“Well, I’m not surprised,” said Helmholtz. After a silence, “We’ve come to say good-bye,” he went on in another tone. “We’re off tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, we’re off tomorrow,” said Bernard on whose face the Savage remarked a new expression of determined resignation. “And by the way, John,” he continued, leaning forward in his chair and laying a hand on the Savage’s knee, “I want to say how sorry I am about everything that happened yesterday.” He blushed. “How ashamed,” he went on, in spite of the unsteadiness of his voice, “how really…”

The Savage cut him short and, taking his hand, affectionately pressed it.

“Helmholtz was wonderful to me,” Bernard resumed, after a little pause. “If it hadn’t been for him, I

should…”

“Now, now,” Helmholtz protested.

There was a silence. In spite of their sadness-because of it, even; for their sadness was the symptom of their love for one another-the three young men were happy.

“I went to see the Controller this morning,” said the Savage at last.

“What for?”

“To ask if I mightn’t go to the islands with you.”

“And what did he say?” asked Helmholtz eagerly.

The Savage shook his head. “He wouldn’t let me.”

“Why not?”

“He said he wanted to go on with the experiment. But I’m damned,” the Savage added, with sudden fury, “I’m damned if I’ll go on being experimented with. Not for all the Controllers in the world. I shall go away tomorrow too.”

“But where?” the others asked in unison.

The Savage shrugged his shoulders. “Anywhere. I don’t care. So long as I can be alone.”

From Guildford the line followed the Wey valley to Godalming, then, over Milford and Witley, proceeded to Haslemere and on through Petersfield towards Portsmouth. Roughly parallel to it, the road passed over Worplesden, Tongham, Puttenham, Elstead and Grayshott. Between the Hog’s Back and Hindhead there were points where the two lines were not more than six or seven kilometres apart. The distance was too small for careless flyers-particularly at night and when they had taken half a gramme too much. There had been accidents. Serious ones. It had been decided to deflect the upline a few kilometres to the west. Between Grayshott and Tongham four abandoned air-lighthouses marked the course of the old Portsmouth-to-London road. The skies above them were silent and deserted.

The Savage had chosen as his hermitage the old light-house which stood on the crest of the hill between Puttenham and Elstead. The building was of ferro-concrete and in excellent condition-it was almost too comfortable. The Savage pacified his conscience by promising himself a compensatingly harder self-discipline. His first night in the hermitage was, deliberately, a sleepless one. He spent the hours on his knees praying, now to that Heaven from which the guilty Claudius had begged forgiveness, now in Zuni to Awonawilona, now to Jesus and Pookong, now to his own guardian animal, the eagle. From time to time he stretched out his arms as though he were on the Cross, and held them thus through long minutes of an ache that gradually increased till it became a tremulous and excruciating agony; held them, while repeating, through clenched teeth, “Oh, forgive me! Oh, make me pure! Oh, help me to be good!” again and again, till he was on the point of fainting from the pain.

When morning came, he felt he had earned the right to inhabit the lighthouse. Yet, the very reason why he had chosen the lighthouse had become almost instantly a reason for going somewhere else. He had decided to live there because the view was so beautiful. But who was he to be pampered with the daily and hourly sight of loveliness? All he deserved was to live in some blind hole in the ground. Stiff and still aching after his long night of pain, but for that very reason inwardly reassured, he climbed up to the platform of his tower, he looked out over the bright sunrise world which he had regained the right to inhabit.

Close to the lighthouse were the woods, the open stretches of heather and yellow gorse, the shining ponds with their overhanging birch trees, their water lilies, their beds of rushes-these were beautiful and astonishing. And then the solitude! Whole days passed during which he never saw a human being. The lighthouse was only a quarter of an hour’s flight from the Charing-T Tower; but the hills of Malpais were hardly more deserted than this Surrey heath. During the first days the Savage lived alone and undisturbed.

Of the money which, on his first arrival, John had received for his personal expenses, most had been spent on his equipment. Before leaving London he had bought four viscose-woollen blankets, rope and string, nails, glue, a few tools, matches (though he intended in due course to make a fire drill), some pots and pans, two dozen packets of seeds, and ten kilogrammes of wheat flour. “No, not synthetic starch and flour-substitute,” he had insisted. “Even though it is more nourishing.”

He counted his money. The little that remained would be enough, he hoped, to tide him over the winter. By next spring, his garden would be producing enough to make him independent of the outside world. Meanwhile, there would always be game. He had seen plenty of rabbits, and there were fish in the ponds. He set to work at once to make a bow and arrows.

He decided to use ash tree and hazel to make his weapon. The work gave him an intense pleasure. After those weeks in London, with nothing to do-it was pure delight to be doing something that demanded skill and patience.

He had almost finished whittling the stave into shape, when he realized with a start that he was singing-singing! Guiltily he blushed. After all, it was not to sing and enjoy himself that he had come here. It was to escape further contamination by the filth of civilized life; it was to be purified and made good; it was actively to make amends. He realized that, absorbed in the whittling of his bow, he had forgotten what he had sworn to himself he would constantly remember-poor Linda, and his own murderous unkindness to her, and those loathsome twins. He had sworn to remember, he had sworn unceasingly to make amends. And there was he, sitting happily over his bow, singing, actually singing…

He went indoors, opened the box of mustard, and put some water to boil on the fire.

Half an hour later, three Delta-Minus landworkers happened to be driving to Elstead and, at the top of the hill, were astonished to see a young man standing outside the abandoned lighthouse. He was stripped to the waist and hitting himself with a whip of knotted cords. His back was horizontally streaked with crimson. The driver pulled up at the side of the road and, with his two companions, stared open-mouthed at the spectacle. One, two three-they counted the strokes. After the eighth, the young man interrupted his self-punishment to run to the wood’s edge and there be violently sick. When he had finished, he picked up the whip and began hitting himself again. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve…

“Ford!” whispered the driver. And his twins were of the same opinion.

Three days later, like flies settling on a corpse, the reporters came.

The bow was ready. The Savage was busy on his arrows. Thirty hazel sticks had been whittled and dried, tipped with sharp nails. He had made a raid one night on the Puttenham poultry farm, and now had enough feathers to equip a whole armoury. It was at work upon the feathering of his shafts that the first of the reporters found him. Noiseless, the man came up behind him.

“Good-morning, Mr. Savage,” he said. “I am the representative of The Hourly Radio.”

Startled, the Savage sprang to his feet, scattering arrows, feathers, glue-pot and brush in all directions.

“I beg your pardon,” said the reporter, “I had no intention…” He touched his hat-the aluminum hat in which he carried his wireless receiver and transmitter. “Excuse my not taking it off,” he said. “It’s a bit heavy. Well, as I was saying, I am the representative of The Hourly…”

“What do you want?” asked the Savage, scowling.

“Well, of course, our readers would be very interested…” He put his head on one side, his smile became almost coquettish. “Just a few words from you, Mr. Savage.” And rapidly, he uncoiled two wires connected to the portable battery buckled round his waist; plugged them into the sides of his aluminum hat; touched another spring on the peak of the brim-and, like a jack-in-the-box, out jumped a microphone. “Hullo,” he said to the microphone, “hullo, hullo… Edzel? Primo Mellon speaking. Yes, I’ve got hold of him. Mr. Savage will now take the microphone and say a few words. Won’t you, Mr. Savage?” He looked up at the Savage with another of those winning smiles of his. “Just tell our readers why you came here. What made you leave London so very suddenly. And, of course, that whip.” (The Savage started. How did they know about the whip?) Just a few words, a very few…”

The Savage obeyed. Five words he uttered and no more-five words, the same as those he had said to Bernard about the Arch-Community-Songster of Canterbury. “Hani! Sons eso tse-na!” And seizing the reporter by the shoulder, he spun him round and, with all the force and accuracy of a champion foot-and-mouth-baller, delivered a most prodigious kick.

Eight minutes later, a new edition of The Hourly Radio was on sale in the streets of London. “HOURLY RADIO REPORTER HAS COCCYX KICKED BY MYSTERY SAVAGE,” ran the headlines on the front page. “SENSATION IN SURREY.”

Undeterred by that, four other reporters, representing the New York Times, the Frankfurt Four-Dimensional Continuum, The Fordian Science Monitor, and The Delta Mirror, called that afternoon at the lighthouse and were met with with progressively increasing violence.

From a safe distance and still rubbing his buttocks, “Fool!” shouted the man from The Fordian Science Monitor, “why don’t you take soma?”

“Get away!” The Savage shook his fist.

The other retreated a few steps. “Evil’s an unreality if you take a couple of grammes.”

“Kohakwa iyathtokyai!” The tone was menacingly derisive.

“Pain’s a delusion.”

“Oh, is it?” said the Savage and, picking up a thick hazel switch, walked forward.

The man from The Fordian Science Monitor made a dash for his helicopter.

After that the Savage was left for a time in peace. A few helicopters came and hovered round the tower. He shot an arrow into the nearest of them. It pierced the aluminum floor of the cabin; there was a shrill yell, and the machine went rocketing up into the air. The others, in future, kept their distance respectfully. Ignoring their humming, the Savage dug at what was to be his garden. After a time the vermin evidently became bored and flew away; for hours at a stretch the sky above his head was empty and silent.

The weather was breathlessly hot, there was thunder in the air. He had dug all the morning and was resting, stretched out on the floor. And suddenly thought of Lenina, saying “Sweet!” and “Put your arms round me!” Impudent strumpet! But oh, oh, her arms round his neck, the lifting of her breasts, her mouth! Eternity was in our lips and eyes. Lenina… No, no, no, no! He sprang to his feet and, half naked as he was, ran out of the house. At the edge of the heath stood a clump of juniper bushes. He flung himself against them, against the green spikes. Sharp, with a thousand points, they pricked him. He tried to think of poor Linda, breathless and dumb, with her clutching hands and the unutterable terror in her eyes. Poor Linda whom he had sworn to remember. But it was still the presence of Lenina that haunted him. Lenina, whom he had promised to forget. Even through the stab and sting of the juniper needles, his wincing flesh was aware of her, unescapably real. “Sweet, sweet… And if you wanted me too, why didn’t you…”

The whip was hanging on a nail by the door. In a frenzy the Savage ran back to the house, seized it, whirled it. The knotted cords bit into his flesh.

“Strumpet! Strumpet!” he shouted at every blow as though it were Lenina (and how frantically, without knowing it, he wished it were), white, warm, scented Lenina. “Strumpet!” And then, in a voice of despair, “Oh, Linda, forgive me. Forgive me, God. I’m bad. I’m wicked. I’m… No, no, you strumpet, you strumpet!”

From his carefully constructed hide in the wood three hundred metres away, Darwin Bonaparte, the Feely Corporation’s most expert big game photographer had watched the whole proceedings. Patience and skill had been rewarded. He had spent three days sitting inside an artificial oak tree; three days of setting up cameras and microphones. Seventy-two hours of profound discomfort. But now the great moment had come. “Splendid,” he said to himself, as the Savage started his astonishing performance. “Splendid!” He kept his telescopic cameras carefully aimed-glued to their moving objective; clapped on a higher power to get a close-up of the frantic and distorted face (admirable!); switched over, for half a minute, to slow motion (an exquisitely comical effect, he promised himself); listened in, meanwhile, to the blows, the groans, the wild and raving words that were being recorded on the sound-track at the edge of his film, tried the effect of a little amplification (yes, that was decidedly better); wished the Savage would turn round so that he could get a good close-up of the blood on his back-and almost instantly (what astonishing luck!) the fellow did turn round, and he was able to take a perfect close-up.

“Well, that was grand!” he said to himself when it was all over. “Really grand!” When they had put in the feely effects at the studio, it would be a wonderful film. Almost as good, thought Darwin Bonaparte, as the Sperm Whale’s Love-Life-and that, by Ford, was saying a good deal!

Twelve days later The Savage of Surrey had been released and could be seen, heard and felt in every first-class feely-palace in Western Europe.

The effect of Darwin Bonaparte’s film was immediate and enormous. On the afternoon which followed the evening of its release John’s solitude was suddenly broken by the arrival of a great swarm of helicopters.

He was digging in his garden-digging, too, in his own mind. Death-and he drove in his spade once, and again, and yet again. And all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. A convincing thunder rumbled through the words. He lifted another spadeful of earth. Why had Linda died? Why had she been allowed to become gradually less than human and at last… He shuddered and stamped the spade fiercely into the tough ground. As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods; they kill us for their sport. Thunder again. His spade struck against a stone; he stooped to pick it up. For in that sleep of death, what dreams?…

A humming overhead had become a roar; and suddenly he was in shadow, there was something between the sun and him. He looked up, startled, from his digging, from his thoughts; looked up in a dazzled bewilderment and saw, close above him, the swarm of hovering machines. Like locusts they came, descended all around him. And out of them stepped men in white viscose-flannels, women in velveteen shorts and sleeveless, half-unzippered singlets-one couple from each. In a few minutes there were dozens of them, standing in a wide circle round the lighthouse, staring, laughing, clicking their cameras, throwing (as to an ape) peanuts, packets of sex-hormone chewing-gum.

The Savage had retreated towards cover, and now, in the posture of an animal at bay, stood with his back to the wall of the lighthouse, staring from face to face in speechless horror, like a man out of his senses.

From this stupor he was aroused to a more immediate sense of reality by the impact on his cheek of a well-aimed packet of chewing-gum. A shock of startling pain-and he was broad awake, awake and fiercely angry.

“Go away!” he shouted.

The ape had spoken; there was a burst of laughter and hand-clapping. “Good old Savage! Hurrah, hurrah!” Then he heard the cries of: “Whip, whip, the whip!”

Acting on the word’s suggestion, he took the bunch of knotted cords from its nail behind the door and shook it at his tormentors.

There was a yell of ironical applause.

Menacingly he advanced towards them. A woman cried out in fear. The line wavered, then stiffened again. They were an overwhelming force and it had given them courage which the Savage had not expected of them. Taken aback, he halted and looked round.

“Why don’t you leave me alone?”

“Have a few magnesium-salted almonds!” said the man closest to him. He held out a packet. “They’re really very good, you know,” he added, with a rather nervous smile. “And the magnesium salts will help to keep you young.”

The Savage ignored his offer. “What do you want with me?” he asked, turning from one grinning face to another. “What do you want with me?”

“The whip,” answered a hundred voices confusedly. “Do the whipping stunt. Let’s see the whipping stunt.”

Then, in unison and on a slow, heavy rhythm, “We-want-the whip,” shouted a group at the end of the line. “We-want-the whip.”

Others at once took up the cry, and the phrase was repeated again and again, with an ever-growing volume of sound, until no other word was being spoken. “We-want-the whip.”

They were all crying together; and, intoxicated by the noise, the unanimity, they might, it seemed, have gone on for hours-almost forever. But at about the twenty-fifth repetition something else happened. Yet another helicopter had arrived.

The door of the helicopter opened, and out stepped, first a fair and ruddy-faced young man, then, in green velveteen shorts, white shirt, and jockey cap, a young woman.

At the sight of the young woman, the Savage started, recoiled, turned pale.

The young woman stood, smiling at him-an uncertain smile. The seconds passed. Her lips moved, she was saying something; but the sound of her voice was covered by the loud 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 beautiful face of hers appeared a strange expression of yearning distress. Her blue eyes seemed to grow larger, brighter; and suddenly two tears rolled down her cheeks. She spoke again; then, with a quick 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 on the ground. “Henry, Henry!” she shouted. But her companion had bolted out of harm’s way behind the helicopter.

The line broke; there was a 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.

“Oh, the flesh!” The Savage ground his teeth. This time he hit himself. “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, they began to mime the frenzy of his gestures.

“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 by soma, and exhausted by a long-drawn frenzy of sensuality, the Savage lay sleeping on the ground. The sun was already high when he awoke. He lay for a moment, blinking at the light; then suddenly remembered-everything.

“Oh, my God, my God!” He covered his eyes with his hand.

That evening the swarm of helicopters was much larger. The description of last night’s orgy of atonement had been in all the papers.

“Savage!” called the first arrivals, as they got out of their machine. “Mr. Savage!”

There was no answer.

The door of the lighthouse was ajar. They pushed it open and walked inside. Through an archway on the further side of the room they could see the bottom of the staircase that led up to the higher floors. Just under the crown of the arch dangled a pair of feet.

“Mr. Savage!”

Slowly, very slowly, the feet turned towards the right; north, north-east, east, south-east, south, south-south-west; then paused, and, after a few seconds, turned back towards the left. South-south-west, south, south-east, east…

Англо-русский словарь

a [ǝ] (неопределённый артикль); один

aback [ǝ'bæk] to be taken aback удивляться

abandoned [ǝ'bændǝnd] покинутый

abbey ['æbi] аббатство

abject ['æbʤekt] жалкий, смиренный

abjectly ['æbʤektli] жалко

able ['eɪbl] способный

abnormality [,æbnɔ:r'mælǝti] аномалия

abolish [ǝ'bɒlɪʃ] отменять, избавлять

abortion [ǝ'bɔ:rʃn] аборт

about [ǝ'baʊt] 1) о 2) около, почти

above [ǝ'bʌv] наверху, выше

absence ['æbsǝns] отсутствие

absolute [,æbsǝ'lju:t] абсолют

absolutely [,æbsǝ'lu:tlɪ] совершенно

absorbed [ǝb'zɔ:bd] поглощенный

absorbing [ǝb'zɔ:rbɪŋ] всепоглощающий

absurd [ǝb'sæ:d] нелепый, абсурдный

absurdity [ǝb'sæ:dɪti] нелепость

absurdly [ǝb'sæ:dlɪ] глупо, нелепо

accelerate [ǝk'selǝreɪt] ускорять

accelerator [ǝk'selǝreɪtǝ] акселератор

accept [ǝk'sept] принимать

accepted [ǝk'septɪd] 1) прош. вр. и прич. прош. вр. от accept 2) принятый

access ['ækses] доступ

accessible [ǝk'sesǝbl] доступный

accident ['æksɪdǝnt] несчастный случай

accidentally [,æksɪ'dentǝlɪ] случайно

accompany [ǝ'kʌmpǝni] сопровождать

accomplished [ǝ'kʌmplɪʃt] завершённый

account [ǝ'kaʊnt] счет

accuracy ['ækjʊrǝsi] точность, аккуратность

accuse [ǝ'kju:z] обвинять

accusingly [ǝ'kju:zɪŋlɪ] осуждающе

accustomed [ǝ'kʌstǝmd] привычный, обычный

acetate ['æsǝ,teɪt] ацетатный, пластиковый

ache [eɪk] 1) боль 2) болеть

achieve [ǝ'ʧi:v] достигать

aching ['eɪkɪŋ] испытывающий боль

acid ['æsɪd] кислота

across [ǝ'krɒs] через, поперёк

act [ækt] 1) акт 2) вести себя

acting ['æktɪŋ] 1) притворяться 2) V-ing oт act

action ['ækʃn] действие, занятие

actively ['æktɪvli] активно

activity [æk'tɪvǝti] деятельность

actual ['ækʧuǝl] настоящий

actually ['ækʧuǝli] на самом деле

adap [ǝ'dæpt] адаптировать

add [æd] добавлять

address [ǝ'dres] 1) обращение 2) обращаться

adequately ['ædɪkwǝtli] достаточно, в полной мере

admiration [,ædmǝ'reɪʃn] восхищение

admit [ǝd'mɪt] признавать

adolescent [,ædǝ'lesǝnt] юноша или девушка

adorable [ǝ'dɔ:rǝbl] милый

adrenal [ǝ'dri:nǝl] надпочечник

adult ['ædʌlt] взрослый

advance [ǝd'vɑ:ns] продвигаться вперёд

advantage [ǝd'vɑ:ntɪʤ] преимущество

adventure [ǝd'venʧǝ] приключение

advertisement [ǝd'væ:rtɪsmǝnt] реклама

advice [ǝd'vaɪs] совет

advise [ǝd'vaɪz] советовать

aeroplane ['eǝrǝ,pleɪn] самолет

affair [ǝ'feǝ] дело

affected [ǝ'fektɪd] пораженный

affection [ǝ'fekʃn] симпатия

affectionately [ǝ'fekʃnɪtli] нежно

affirmation [,æfǝr'meɪʃn] подтверждение

afraid [ǝ'freɪd] испуганный

Africa ['æfrɪkǝ] Африка

after ['ɑ:ftǝ] после

afternoon [,ɑ:ftǝ'nu:n] вторая половина дня

after-thought ['ɑ:ftǝ,θɔ:t] пришедшая поздно мысль

afterwards ['ɑ:ftǝwǝdz] позже, после этого

again [ǝ'gen] снова

against [ǝ'genst] против

agave [ǝ'geɪvi] агава

age [eɪʤ] возраст

aged [eɪʤd] состарившийся

aghast ['gɑ:st] ошеломленный

agitated ['æʤɪ,teɪtɪd] взволнованный

ago [ǝ'gǝʊ] тому назад

agonize ['ægǝnaɪz] быть в мучении

agony ['ægǝnɪ] страдание, мучение

agree [ǝ'gri:] соглашаться

agreeable [ǝ'gri:ǝbl] приятный

agreeing [ǝ'gri:ɪŋ] согласие

agricultural [,ægrɪ'kʌlʧǝrǝl] сельскохозяйственный

agriculture ['ægrɪ,kʌlʧǝ] сельское хозяйство

aim [eɪm] 1) цель, намерение 2) прицеливаться

air [eǝ] 1) атмосфера 2) воздух

airily ['eǝrɪli] беззаботно

air-lighthouse [eǝ 'laɪthaʊs] воздушный маяк

aisle [aɪl] ряд

ajar [ǝ'ʤɑ:] приоткрытый

alarm [ǝ'lɑ:m] 1) тревога 2) беспокоить

alas [ǝ'læs] к сожалению

alcohol ['ælkǝ,hɒl] алкоголь, спирт

alighted [ǝ'laɪtɪd] зажённый, горящий

alike [ǝ'laɪk] похожий

alive [ǝ'laɪv] живой

all [ɔ:l] всё, все

allegiance [ǝ'li:ʤǝns] преданность, верность

allow [ǝ'laʊ] позволять

almond ['ɑ:mǝnd] миндаль

almost ['ɔ:lmǝʊst] почти

alone [ǝ'lǝʊn] один, в одиночестве

along [ǝ'lɒŋ] дальше

aloud [ǝ'laʊd] вслух

Alpha ['ælfǝ] альфа

Alpha-Minus ['ælfǝ 'maɪnǝs] альфа-минус

Alpha-Plus ['ælfǝ 'plʌs] альфа-плюс

already [ɔ:l'redi] уже

also ['ɔ:lsǝʊ] тоже

alternate ['ɔ:ltǝrneɪt] 1) чередующийся 2) чередоваться

alternation [,ɔ:ltǝr'neɪʃn] чередование

although [ɔ:l'ðǝʊ] хотя

aluminum ['lu:mɪnǝm] аллюминиевый

always ['ɔ:lweɪz] всегда

am [æm] глагол-связка для 1 л. ед. ч.

аmazement [ǝ'meɪzmǝnt] изумление, удивление

amazing [ǝ'meɪzɪŋ] невероятный

amends [ǝ'mendz] to make amends исправлять ошибки

ɑmerican [ǝ'merɪkǝn] американский

among [ǝ'mʌŋ] между

amplification [,æmplɪfɪ'keɪʃn] усиление

amusing [ǝ'mju:zɪŋ] забавный, занятный

an [æn] (неопределённый артикль) употр. перед исчисляемым существительным в ед. числе и придаёт ему обобщающее значение: любой, всё равно какой; один

anaesthetic [,ænǝs'θetɪk] обезболивающее, анестетик

anaesthetize [ǝ'ni:sθǝtaɪz] использовать анестетик

ancestor ['ænsestǝ] предок

and [ænd] и, а

anecdote ['ænɪk,dǝʊt] шутка

angel ['eɪnʤǝl] ангел

angelic [æn'ʤelɪk] ангельский

anger ['æŋgǝ] 1) гнев 2) злить

angrily ['æŋgrɪli] злобно

angry ['æŋgrɪ] гневный, сердитый

animal ['ænɪmǝl] животное

annihilate [ǝ'naɪǝleɪt] уничтожать

annihilation [ǝ,naɪǝ'leɪʃn] истребление, уничтожение

announce [ǝ'naʊns] объявлять

announcement [ǝ'naʊnsmǝnt] объявление

annoyance [ǝ'nɔɪǝns] раздражение

annoy [ǝ'nɔɪ] раздражать

annoyed [ǝ'nɔɪd] 1) раздраженный 2) прош. вр. от annoy

annual ['ænjuǝl] ежегодный

another [ǝ'nʌðǝ] ещё один, другой

answer ['ɑ:nsǝ] 1) отвечать 2) ответ

antelope ['æntɪ,lǝʊp] антилопа

anthrax ['ænθræks] сибирская язва

antique [æn'ti:k] старинный, античный

anxiety [æŋ'zaɪǝti] волнение

anxious ['æŋkʃǝs] взволнованный

anxious-looking ['æŋkʃǝs 'lʊkɪŋ] выглядящий нервно

anxiously ['æŋkʃǝsli] взволнованно

any ['enɪ] любой, какой-нибудь

anybody ['enɪ,bɒdɪ] кто-нибудь

anyhow ['eni,haʊ] в любом случае

anymore [,eni'mɔ:] больше не

anyone ['enɪwʌn] кто-нибудь

anything [enɪθɪŋ] что-нибудь

anyway ['enɪweɪ] как бы то ни было, во всяком случае

anywhere ['eni,weǝ] где угодно

apart [ǝ'pɑ:t] порознь

apartment [ǝ'pɑ:tmǝnt] квартира

ape [eɪp] обезьяна

apologize [ǝ'pɒlǝʤaɪz] извиняться

apology [ǝ'pɒlǝʤi] извинение

appalled [ǝ'pɔ:ld] потрясенный

appalling [ǝ'pɔ:lɪŋ] ужасный, омерзительный

apparatus [,æpǝ'reɪtǝs] аппарат

apparent [ǝ'pærǝnt] явный

apparently [ǝ'pærǝntlɪ] очевидно

appear [ǝ'pɪǝ] появляться

appearance [ǝ'pɪǝrǝns] внешний вид

appetite ['æpǝtaɪt] аппетит

applause [ǝ'plɔ:z] апплодисменты

apple ['æpl] яблоко

apply [ǝ'plaɪ] применять

appointed [ǝ'pɔɪntɪd] назначенный

apprehension [,æprɪ'henʃn] опасение

apprehensively [,æprɪ'hensɪvli] с опаской

approach [ǝ'prǝʊʧ] 1) подход 2) подходить

approaching [ǝ'prǝʊʧɪŋ] 1) приближающийся 2) Ving от approach

approvingly [ǝ'pru:vɪŋli] одобрительно

aquiline ['ækwɪ,laɪn] горбатый

Arabian [ǝ'reɪbiǝn] арабский

arch [ɑ:ʧt] 1) арка 2) первый, главный

Arch-Community-ʃongster [ɑ:rʧ kǝ'mju:nǝti 'sɔŋstǝ] архипеснослов

archway ['ɑ:rʧweɪ] арка

area ['eǝriǝ] область

arm [ɑ:m] рука

arm-chair ['ɑ:rm,ʧeǝ] кресло

armoury ['ɑ:rmǝri] арсенал

around [ǝ'raʊnd] вокруг

aroused [ǝ'raʊzd] возбужденный

arpeggio [ɑ:r'peʤiǝʊ] арпеджио

arrange [ǝ'reɪnʤ] организовывать

arranged [ǝ'reɪnʤd] расставленный

arrest [ǝ'rest] арест

arrival [ǝ'raɪvl] прибытие

arrive [ǝ'raɪv] прибывать

arrow ['ærǝʊ] стрела

art [ɑ:t] искусство

article ['ɑ:rtɪkl] статья

artificial [,ɑ:rtɪ'fɪʃl] искуственный

as [ǝz] 1) в качестве; наподобие 2) поскольку

ash [æʃ] пепел

ashamed [ǝ'ʃeɪmd] to be ashamed испытывать стыд

ask [ɑ:sk] 1) спрашивать 2) просить

asleep [ǝ'sli:p] спящий

aspect ['æspekt] сторона

assailant [ǝ'seɪlǝnt] нападающий

assault [ǝ'sɔ:lt] атаковать

assembled [ǝ'sembl] собираться

assembly [ǝ'sembli] собрание

asset ['æset] преимущество

assistant [ǝ'sɪstǝnt] ассистент

association [ǝ,sǝʊsi'eɪʃn] связь

assume [ǝ'sju:m] зд. принимать на себя

assure [ǝ'ʃɔ:] уверять; обеспечивать

astonish [ǝ'stɒnɪʃ] удивлять, изумлять

astonished [ǝ'stɒnɪʃt] 1) удивленный 2) прош. вр. от astonish

astonishing [ǝ'stɒnɪʃɪŋ] невероятный, изумительный

astonishment [ǝ'stɒnɪʃmǝnt] удивление, изумление

astray [ǝ'streɪ] to lead sbd astray сводить с пути праведного

at [æt] на, в, при, у, за, около

ate [eɪt] прош. вр. от eat

atmosphere ['ætmǝsfɪǝ] атмосфера

atonement [ǝ'tǝʊn] искупление

attach [ǝ'tæʧ] привязать, прикрепить

attached [ǝ'tæʧt] привязанный

attempt [ǝ'tempt] 1) пытаться 2) попытка

attendant [ǝ'tendǝnt] обслуживающее лицо

attention [ǝ'tenʧǝn] внимание

attentively [ǝ'tentɪvli] внимательно

attracted [ǝ'træktɪd] привлеченный

attraction [ǝ'trækʃn] привлекательность, притяжение

attractive [ǝ'træktɪv] привлекательный

auburn ['ɔ:bǝn] рыжеватый

audible ['ɔ:dǝbl] слышимый

audibly ['ɔ:dǝbl] громко, понятно

audience ['ɔ:dɪǝnts] зрители

auditorium [,ɔ:dɪ'tɔ:riǝm] аудитория, зал

ɑugust [ɔ:'gʌst] август

author ['ɔ:θǝ] автор

authority [ɔ:'θɒrǝti] власть

automatic [,ɔ:tǝ'mætɪk] автоматический

automatically [,ɔ:tǝ'mætɪkli] автоматически

average ['ævǝrɪʤ] средний, обычный

avert [ǝ'væ:rt] отводить

avert [ǝ'væ:t] отворачивать, отводить

avoid [ǝ'vɔɪd] избегать

awake [ǝ'weɪk] будить

awakened [ǝ'weɪkǝnd] 1) прош. вр. от awake 2) пробудившийся

aware [ǝ'weǝ] сознающий, знающий

away [ǝ'weɪ] 1) прочь 2) далеко

awful ['ɔ:fǝl] ужасный

awfully ['ɔ:fǝli] ужасно

awkward ['ɔ:kwǝrd] неловкий

axle ['æksl] ось

baby ['beɪbɪ] младенец; детка

Babylon ['bæbɪlǝn] Вавилон

back [bæk] 1) обратно 2) спина 3) отступать, отходить, отъезжать

backward ['bækwǝd] обратный

bacteriological [bæk,tɪǝriǝ'lɒʤɪkl] бактериальный

bad [bæd] плохой

bait [beɪt] дразнить, изводить

balance ['bælǝns] баланс

balcony ['bælkǝni] балкон

ball [bɔ:l] мяч

balloon [bǝ'lu:n] шар

band [bænd] лента

bandaged ['bændɪʤd] перевязанный

bandolier [,bændǝ'lɪǝ] патронташ, поясная сумка

bang [bæŋ] 1) громкий удар 2) грохотать

bank [bæŋk] берег

bare [beǝ] голый

barrel ['bærǝl] 1) бочка; цилиндр 3) катиться

base [beɪs] основание, корень

basement ['beɪsmǝnt] подвал

basil ['bæzǝl] базилик

basis ['beɪsɪs] основа

bass [beɪs] бас

batch [bæʧ] партия

bath ['bɑ:θh] ванна

bathroom ['bɑ:θru:m] ванная комната, уборная

battery ['bætǝri] батарея

battle ['bætl] сражаться

be [bi:] быть

bead [bi:d] капля

beam [bi:m] 1) брус, перекладина 2) улыбаться

bear [beǝ] 1) медведь 2) выносить

beard [bɪǝrd] борода

bearing ['beǝrɪŋ] точка опоры

bearskin ['beǝr,skɪn] медвежья шкура

beast [bi:st] зверь

beastly ['bi:stli] дико

beat [bi:t] бить, биться

beaten [bi:tn] 1) избитый 2) прич. прош. вр. от beat

beating ['bi:tɪŋ] 1) избиение 2) V-ing от beat

beautiful ['bju:tǝfl] красивый

beauty ['bju:tɪ] красавица, красота

beckon ['bekǝn] манить, звать

become [bɪ'kʌm] становиться

becoming [bɪ'kʌmɪŋ] 1) становление, превращение 2) Ving от become

bed [bed] 1) кровать 2) to go to bed идти спать

bedroom ['bedru:m] спальня

bee [bi:] пчела

been [bi:n] прич. прош. вр. от be

before [bɪ'fɔ:] перед, до

beg [beg] умолять

began [bɪ'gæn] прош. вр. от begin

begin [bɪ'gɪn] начинать

beginning [bɪ'gɪnɪŋ] начало

begun [bɪ'gʌn] прич. прош. вр. от begin

behave [bɪ'heɪv] вести себя

behavior [bɪ'heɪvɪǝ] поведение

behind [bɪ'haɪnd] 1) за 2) from behind сзади

believe [bɪ'li:v] верить, полагать

bell [bel] звонок

bell-bottomed ['bel'bɒtǝmd] расклешенный

belong [bɪ'lɒŋ] принадлежать

below [bɪ'lǝʊ] внизу, вниз, под

belt [belt] ремень, пояс

bend [bend] наклоняться

beneath [bɪ'ni:θ] 1) внизу 2) под

benevolent [bǝ'nevǝlǝnt] доброжелательный

bent [bent] 1) согнутый 2) прош. вр. и прич. прош. вр. от bend

beside [bɪ'saɪd] рядом с; близ

besides [bɪ'saɪdz] кроме того

best [best] 1) превосх. ст. от good 2) побеждать

Beta ['bi:tǝ] бета

Beta-Minus ['bi:tǝ 'maɪnǝs] бета-минус

Beta-Plus ['bi:tǝ plʌs] бета-плюс

betray [bɪ'treɪ] предавать

better ['betǝ] лучше

between [bɪ'twi:n] между

bewildered [bɪ'wɪldǝrd] озадаченный

bewilderment ['bɪ'wɪldǝmǝnt] замешательство

Bible ['baɪbl] библия

big [bɪg] большой

binding ['baɪndɪŋ] переплет

bio-chemical [,baɪǝʊ'kemɪkl] биохимический

bio-chemist ['baɪǝʊ'kemɪst] биохимик

biological [,baɪǝ'lɒʤɪkl] биологический

biology [baɪ'ɒlǝʤi] биология

birch [bæ:rʧ] береза

bird [bæ:d] птица

birthday ['bæ:rθdeɪ] день рождения

bit [bɪt] 1) a bit немного, слегка 2) for a bit немного по времени 3) прош. вр. от bite

bite [baɪt] кусать

bitten ['bɪtǝn] укушенный

bitterly ['bɪtǝrli] с горечью

black [blæk] чёрный

black-haired [blbk heǝd] с черными волосами

blank [blæŋk] пустой, безучастный

blanket ['blæŋkɪt] одеяло, покрывало

bleed [bli:d] кровоточить

bleeding ['bli:dɪŋ] 1) кровоточащий 2) Ving от bleed

blessing ['blesɪŋ] благословение

blew [blu:] прош. вр. от blow

blind [blaɪnd] слепой

blindly ['blaɪndli] слепо

blink [blɪŋk] моргать

blinking ['blɪŋkɪŋ] 1) моргание 2) Ving от blink

bloated ['blǝʊtɪd] раздутый

block [blɒk] квадрат

blond [blɒnd] белокурый, светловолосый

blonde [blɒnd] белокурая

blood [blʌd] кровь

blood-coloured [blʌd'kʌlǝd] цвета крови

bloodstain ['blʌd,steɪn] кровавое пятно

blood-surrogate [blʌd'sʌrǝgɪt] кровозаменитель

blotched [blɒʧt] покрытый пятнами

blouse [blaʊz] блузка

blow [blǝʊ] 1) удар 2) гудеть

blowing ['blǝʊɪŋ] the blowing up подрыв

blubbered ['blʌbǝd] зареванный

blue [blu:] голубой, синий

blush [blʌʃ] 1) румяна; румянец 2) краснеть

board [bɔ:d] доска

boast [bǝʊst] хвастать

boasting ['bǝʊstɪŋz] хвастовство

bobbin ['bɒbɪn] бобина, катушка

body ['bɒdɪ] тело

boil [bɔɪl] кипеть

boiled [bɔɪld] 1) вареный 2) прош. вр. от boil

boiling ['bɔɪlɪŋ] кипящий

bold [bǝʊld] смелый, решительный

bolt [bǝʊlt] метнуться

bomb [bɒm] бомба

bone [bǝʊn] кость

book [bʊk] книга

booking ['bʊkɪŋ] регистрирующий

bookshelf ['bʊk,ʃelf] книжная полка, книжный стеллаж

boom [bu:m] грохотать

booming ['bu:mɪŋ] 1) грогхотание 2) грохочущий

boot [bu:t] ботинок

bore [bɔ:r] утомлять

bored [bɔ:rd] 1) скучающий, утомленный 2) прош. вр. от bore

born [bɔ:n] to be born родиться

bosom ['bʊzǝm] грудь

botany ['bɒtǝni] ботаника

both [bǝʊθ] оба, обе

bother ['bɒðǝ] 1) беспокоиться 2) беспокоить

bottle ['bɒtl] бутылка

bottled ['bɒtld] запечатанный в сосуд

bottle-green ['bɒtlgri:n],бутылочный, цвет, изумрудно-зеленый

bottle-liner ['bɒtl'laɪnǝ] устильщик

bottler ['bɒtlǝ] the Chief Bottler Главный Устильщик

bottling ['bɒtlɪŋ] Bottling Room Укупорочный зал

bottom ['bɒtǝm] низ

bought [bɔ:t] прош. вр., прич. прош. вр. от buy

bound [baʊnd] окованный

bow [baʊ] наклонять, наклоняться

bowl [bǝʊl] миска

box [bɒks] коробка

boy [bɒɪ] мальчик

bracelet ['breɪslɪt] браслет

bracing ['breɪsɪŋ] жесткий

braided ['breɪdɪd] заплетенный

brain [breɪn] мозг

branch [brɑ:nʧ] ветвь

brat [bræt] паршивец

brave [breɪv] смелый

break [breɪk] ломать; прекращать

breakfast ['brekfǝst] завтрак

breast [brest] грудь

breath [breθ] дыхание, вздох

breathe [bri:ð] дышать

breathing ['bri:ðɪŋ] 1) дыхание 2) Ving от breathe

breathless ['breθlɪs] затаивший дыхание

breathlessly ['breθlɪsli] очень душный

bridal ['braɪdǝl] свадебный

brief [bri:f] краткий, короткий

bright [braɪt] яркий

brighten ['braɪtǝn] становиться ярче

brighter ['braɪtǝ] срав. ст. от bright

bright-green [braɪt gri:n] ярко-зеленый

brim [brɪm] край шляпы

bring [brɪŋ] приносить, приводить

brisker ['brɪskǝ] более оживленный

briskly ['brɪskli] отрывисто

bristles ['brɪsǝls] щетина

British ['brɪtɪʃ] британский

broad [brɔ:d] широкий

broadcast ['brɔ:d,kɑ:st] 1) трансляция 2) транслировать

broad-shouldered [brɔ:d 'ʃǝʊldǝd] широкоплечий

broke [brǝʊk] прош. вр. от break

broken ['brǝʊkn] прич. прош. вр. от break

brood [bru:d] лелеять

brother ['brʌðǝ] брат

brought [brɔ:t] прош. вр., прич. прош. вр. от bring

brown [braʊn] коричневый

bruise [bru:z] синяк

brush [brʌʃ] 1) расческа 2) сметать

brute [bru:t] жестокий человек

bubble ['bʌbǝl] пузырек

buckled ['bʌkld] закрепленный

bud [bʌd] 1) зародыш 2) размножаться

build [bɪld] строить

building ['bɪldɪŋ] здание

built [bɪlt] прош. вр. и прич. прош. вр. от build

bulge [bʌlʤ] 1) выпуклость 2) выпучиваться

bulging ['bʌlʤɪŋ] оттопыриться

bully ['bʊli] донимать, приставать

bunch [bʌnʧ] группа

bunk [bʌŋk] койка

bureau ['bjʊǝrǝʊ] бюро

burn [bæ:n] гореть, пылать, сжигать

burning ['bæ:nɪŋ] 1) горящий 2) Ving от burn

burnt [bæ:rnt] прош. вр. от burn

burst [bæ:st] разражаться; бушевать; врываться

bus [bʌs] автобус

bush [buʃ] куст

business ['bɪznǝs] дело

bustle ['bʌsǝl] суетиться

busy ['bɪzi] занятой

but [bʌt] но

butler ['bʌtlǝ] дворецкий

buttocks ['bʌtǝks] зад

buzz [bʌz] жужжать

buzzing ['bʌzɪŋ] 1) жужжание, треск 2) Ving от buzz

by [baɪ] 1) у, при, около 2) к 3) мимо

cab [kæb] такси

cabaret ['kæbǝreɪ] кабаре

cabin ['kæbɪn] кабина, салон

caffeine ['kæfi:n] 1) кофеин 2) caffeine solution кофеиновый раствор

calcium ['kælsiǝm] кальций

calculate ['kælkjʊleɪt] просчитывать, вычислять

calculation [,kælkjʊ'leɪʃn] вычисление

call [kɔ:l] 1) крик; звонок 2) звать, звонить, называть

callow ['kælǝʊ] неопытный

calm [kɑ:m] спокойный

came [keɪm] прош. вр. от come

camera ['kæmrǝ] камера, фотоаппарат

campaign [kæm'peɪn] кампания

can [kǝn] быть в состоянии сделать что-либо

cancer ['kænsǝ] рак

canyon ['kænjǝn] каньон

cap ['kæp] 1) головной убор 2) покрывать

capable ['keɪpǝbl] способный

captive ['kæptɪv] пленный

car [kɑ:] автомобиль

carbonate ['kɑ:rbǝneɪt] карбонат

carcass ['kɑ:rkǝs] туша

cardboard ['kɑ:d,bɔ:d] картон

cardinal ['kɑ:rdɪnǝl] кардинал

card-index [kɑ:d 'ɪndeks] картотека

care [keǝ] волноваться, заботиться о

careful ['keǝfǝl] осторожный

carefully ['keǝfǝlɪ] осторожно

careless ['keǝlǝs] беспечный

carelessly ['keǝlǝsli] бездумно

carry ['kæri] нести

cartridge ['kɑ:rtrɪʤ] картридж, сменный элемент

carve [kɑ:v] вырезать

case [keɪs] случай, дело

cash-box [kæʃ bɒks] ящик для денег

casket ['kɑ:skɪt] контейнер

cast [kɑ:st] бросать

caste [kɑ:st] каста

casual ['kæʒwǝl] обычный

cat [kæt] кот, кошка

catch [kæʧ] ловить, поймать

cathedral [kǝ'θi:drǝl] собор

caught [kɔ:t] прош. вр. от catch

cause [kɔ:z] 1) вызвать 2) причина

caustic ['kɔ:stɪk] едкий

cautious ['kɔ:ʃǝs] осторожный

cautiously ['kɔ:ʃǝsli] осторожно

cease [si:s] переставать, прекращаться

ceiling ['si:lɪŋ] потолок

celebrate ['selǝ,breɪt] праздновать

celebration [,selǝ'breɪʃn] празднование

celebrity [sǝ'lebrǝti] знаменитость

cellar ['selǝ] подвал

cell [sel] клетка

cent [sent] цент

centaur ['sentɔ:] кентавр

centimeter ['sentɪ,mi:tǝ] сантиметр

central ['sentrǝl] центральный

centre ['sentǝ] центр

centrifugal [,sentrɪfju:gl] центробежный

century ['senʧǝri] век

ceremony ['serɪmǝnɪ] церемония

certain ['sæ:tǝn] точный

certainly ['sæ:rtǝnli] абсолютно, конечно

chained [ʧeɪnd] окованный

chair [ʧeǝ] стул, кресло

challenge ['ʧælǝnʤ] испытание

сhamber ['ʧeɪmbǝ] комната

champion ['ʧæmpiǝn] чемпион

championship ['ʧæmpiǝnʃɪp] чемпионат

chance [ʧɑ:nts] вероятность, шанс

change [ʧeɪnʤ] 1) менять, меняться 2) изменение

changed [ʧeɪnʤd] прош. вр. от change

changing-room ['ʧeɪnʤɪŋ 'ru:m] раздевалка

channel ['ʧænl] 1) канал 2) направлять

chaos ['keɪɒs] хаос

characteristic [,kærɪktǝ'rɪstɪk] характерный

character ['kærǝktǝ] личность

charcoal ['ʧɑ:r,kǝʊl] уголь

charge [ʧɑ:ʤ] нестись, бежать; заряжать

charm [ʧɑ:rm] шарм

сharming ['ʧɑ:mɪŋ] очаровательный

chastity ['ʧæstǝti] целомудрие

chatter ['ʧætǝ] болтовня

cheap [ʧi:p] дешёвый

check [ʧek] проверять

cheek [ʧi:k] щека

cheerful ['ʧɪǝfǝl] радостный

chemical ['kemɪkl] 1) химикат 2) химический

chemistry ['kemɪstri] химия

chest [ʧest] грудь

chewing-gum ['ʧu:ɪŋ gʌm] жевательная резинка

сhief [ʧi:f] главный

child [ʧaɪld] ребёнок

childhood ['ʧaɪldhʊd] детство

childish ['ʧaɪldɪʃ] детский

childishly ['ʧaɪldɪʃli] по-детски

children ['ʧɪldrǝn] дети

chimney ['ʧɪmni] дымоход

chin [ʧɪn] подбородок

chlorine ['klɔ:ri:n] хлор

chloroformate ['klɔ:rǝʊfɔ:,meɪt] хлороформиат

chloropicrin ['klɔ:rǝʊ,pɪkrɪn] нитрохлороформ

chocolate ['ʧɒklǝt] шоколад

choice [ʧɔɪs] выбор

choir [kwaɪǝ] хор

choose [ʧu:z] выбирать

chorus ['kɔ:rǝs] хор

chose [ʧǝʊz] прош. вр. от choose

chosen ['ʧǝʊzn] выбранный

Christ [kraɪst] Христос

Christianity [,krɪsti'ænǝti] христианство

chuck [ʧʌk] швырять

chypre [ʃi:pr] шипр

cigarette [,sɪgǝ'ret] сигарета

circle ['sæ:kl] 1) круг 2) объехать по кругу; обводить

circuit ['sæ:kɪt] цепь, круг

circular ['sæ:kjʊlǝ] круглый

circulate ['sæ:rkjʊleɪt] циркулировать

circulation [,sæ:rkjʊ'leɪʃn] циркуляция

circumstance ['sæ:kǝmstæns] условие

cite [saɪt] указывать

citizen ['sɪtɪzǝn] гражданин

city ['sɪtɪ] город

civil ['sɪvǝl] гражданский

civilization [,sɪvǝlaɪ'zeɪʃn] цивилизация

civilized ['sɪvǝ,laɪzd] цивилизованный

civilizing ['sɪvǝlaɪzɪŋ] окультуривание

claim [kleɪm] заявлять, утверждать

clamber ['klæmbǝ] карабкаться

clap [klæp] хлопать

clasp [klɑ:sp] схватить

class [klɑ:s] класс

classroom ['klɑ:s,ru:m] класс, классная комната

clay [kleɪ] глина

clean [kli:n] 1) вытирать, чистить 2) чистый

cleaner ['kli:nǝ] vacuum cleaner пылесос

clear [klɪǝ] 1) ясный; чистый 2) очищать, прочищать; освобождать

clench [klenʧ] сжимать

clerk [klɑ:k] клерк

clever ['klevǝ] умный

click [klɪk] 1) щелчок 2) щелкать

cliff [klɪf] скала

climate ['klaɪmǝt] климат

climatic [klaɪ'mætɪk] климатический

climb [klaɪm] взбираться, подниматься

clink [klɪŋk] звон

cloak [klǝʊk] мантия

clock [klɒk] часы

close [klǝʊz] 1) закрывать, закрываться 2) близкий 3) близко

closest ['klǝʊsɪst] ближайший

close-up ['klǝʊs'ʌp] снимок крупным планом

closing ['klǝʊzɪŋ] 1) закрытие 2) closing time время закрытия

cloth [klɒθ] ткань

clothes [klǝʊðz] одежда

cloud [klaʊd] облако

clouded ['klaʊdɪd] затуманенный

cloudy ['klaʊdi] облачный

club [klʌb] клуб

clump [klʌmp] комок, кусок

cluster ['klʌstǝ] 1) скопление 2) скапливаться

clustered ['klʌstǝd] собранный в одном месте

clutch [klʌʧ] сжимать

cocaine [kǝʊ'keɪn] кокаин

coccyx ['kɒksɪks] копчик

cockpit ['kɒk,pɪt] кабина пилота

code [kǝʊd] код

coffee ['kɒfɪ] кофе

coincidence [kǝʊ'ɪnsɪdǝns] совпадение

cold [kǝʊld] холодный

cold-pressing [kǝʊld 'presɪŋ] холодная прессовка

collapse [kǝ'læps] свалиться

collar ['kɒlǝ] 1) ошейник 2) окольцовывать

collection [kǝ'lekʃn] коллекция

college ['kɒlɪʤ] колледж

cologne [kǝ'lǝʊn] одеколон

colour ['kʌlǝ] 1) цвет 2) раскрашивать

coloured ['kʌlǝd] 1) раскрашенный 2) прош. вр. и прич. прош. вр. от color

colourful ['kʌlǝfǝl] красочный, яркий

column ['kɒlǝm] колонна

coma ['kǝʊmǝ] кома

come [kʌm] приходить

comfort ['kʌmfǝt] 1) комфорт 2) утешать, успокаивать

comfortable ['kʌmftǝbl] удобный

comfortably ['kʌmftǝbli] удобно

comical ['kɒmɪkǝl] комичный

comically ['kɒmɪkǝli] комично

command [kǝ'mɑ:nd] командовать

comment ['kɒment] 1) комментарий 2) комментировать

commercially [kǝ'mæ:rʃǝli] в промышленных масштабах

committee [kǝ'mɪti] комитет

communal ['kɒmjʊnǝl] коллективный

communication [kǝ,mju:nɪ'keɪʃn] коммуникация

community [kǝ'mju:nǝtɪ] общество

companion [kǝm'pænjǝn] компаньон

company ['kʌmpǝnɪ] компания

compare [kǝm'peǝ] сравнивать

comparison [kǝm'pærɪsǝn] сравнение

compatible [kǝm'pætǝbl] совместимый

compel [kǝm'pel] убеждать

compelled [kǝm'peld] убежденный

compensate ['kɒmpǝnseɪt] компенсировать

compensatingly ['kɒmpenseɪtɪŋli] соразмерно

complete [kǝm'pli:t] 1) полный 2) завершать

completely [kǝm'pli:tlɪ] совершенно

complexion [kǝm'plekʃǝn] цвет лица

compose [kǝm'pǝʊz] составлять, сочинять

composer [kǝm'pǝʊzǝ] композитор

compulsory [kǝm'pʌlsǝri] обязательный

conception [kǝn'sepʃn] зачатие

concerned [kǝn'sæ:nd] обеспокоенный

conclude [kǝn'klu:d] подводить итог

concrete ['kɒŋkri:t] 1) точный 2) бетон

concussion [kǝn'kʌʃn] сотрясение

condemnation [,kɒndem'neɪʃn] осуждение, порицание

condense [kǝn'dens] концентрироваться

condition [kǝn'dɪʃn] 1) состояние; условие 2) програмировать

conditioned [kǝn'dɪʃnd] запрограмированный

conditioning [kǝn'dɪʃnɪŋ] програмирование

confess [kǝn'fes] признаваться, каться

confide [kǝn'faɪd] доверяться

confirmation [,kɒnfǝr'meɪʃn] подтверждение

conflict ['kɒnflɪkt] конфликт

confounded [kǝn'faʊndɪd] смущенный, запутанный

confront [kǝn'frʌnt] встречать

confused [kǝn'fju:zd] смущенный, неуверенный

confusedly [kǝn'fju:zdli] смущенно

confusion [kǝn'fju:ʒǝn] смятение

connected [kǝ'nektɪd] 1) соединенный 2) прош. вр. и прич. прош. вр. оn connect

conquer ['kɒŋkǝ] завоевывать

conscience ['kɒnʃǝns] совесть

consciousness ['kɒnʃǝsnǝs] сознание

conscription [kǝn'skrɪpʃn] мобилизация

consequence ['kɒnsɪkwǝns] последствие

consider [kǝn'sɪdǝr] считать

consist [kǝn'sɪst] состоять

consolation [,kɒnsǝ'leɪʃn] утешение

constant ['kɒntstǝnt] постоянный

constantly ['kɒntstǝntlɪ] постоянно

constrain [kǝn'streɪn] ограничивать

constructed [kǝn'strʌktɪd] собранный

consult [kǝn'sʌlt] консультироваться

consume [kǝn'sju:m] консультироваться

consummation [,kɒnsǝ'meɪʃn] завершение, совершение

consumption [kǝn'sʌmpʃn] потребление

contact ['kɒntækt] контакт

contain [kǝn'teɪn] содержать

container [kǝn'teɪnǝ] контейнер

containing [kǝn'teɪnɪŋ] 1) содержащий 2) Ving от contain

contamination [kǝn,tæmɪn'neɪʃn] заражение, порча

contemptuous [kǝn'temptjʊǝs] презрительный, высокомерный

contents ['kɒntents] содержимое

continue [kǝn'tɪnju:] продолжать, продолжаться

continuous [kǝn'tɪnjʊǝs] непрерывный

continuously [kǝn'tɪnjʊǝsli] на протяжении какого-то времени

continuum [kǝn'tɪnjʊǝm] континуум, постоянство

contraceptive [,kɒntrǝ'septɪv] 1) контрацептив 2) контрацептивный

contrary ['kɒntrǝri] on the contrary наоборот

control [kǝn'trǝʊl] 1) контроль 2) контролировать

controlled [kǝn'trǝʊld] 1) управляемый 2) прош. вр. от control

Controller [kǝn'trǝʊlǝ] Управитель

Controllership [kǝn'trǝʊlǝʃɪp] Управительство

controls [kǝn'trǝʊlz] панель управления

convenience [kǝn'vi:niǝns] удобство

conventionality

[kǝn,venʃǝ'nælɪti] традиционность, консерватизм

conveyor [kǝn'veɪǝ] конвейер

conviction [kǝn'vɪkʃn] убеждение

convincing [kǝn'vɪnsɪŋ] убедительный

coo [ku:] ворковать

cook [kʊk] 1) повар 2) готовить

cooked [kʊkt] 1) приготовленный 2) прош. вр. от cook

cookery ['kʊkǝri] поварской

cooking ['kʊkɪŋ] 1) готовка 2) Ving от cook

cool [ku:l] 1) прохладный 2) успокаивать

cooperation [kǝʊ,ɒpǝ'reɪʃn] содействие

copulate ['kɒpjʊleɪt] совокупляться

copulation [,kɒpjʊ'leɪʃǝn] совокупление

coquettish [kɒ'ketɪʃ] кокетливый

cord [kɔ:d] 1) верёвка 2) шнур, кабель

corduroy ['kɔ:rdǝrɔɪ] вельветовый

corn [kɔ:n] кукуруза

corner ['kɔ:nǝ] 1) угол 2) зажимать в угол

corporation [,kɔ:rpǝ'reɪʃn] корпорация

corpse [kɔ:ps] труп

correct [kǝ'rekt] 1) верный 2) исправлять

correction [kǝ'rekʃn] исправление

corresponding [,kɒrɪ'spɒndɪŋ] соответствующий

corridor ['kɒrɪdɔ:] коридор, проход

corrupt [kǝ'rʌpt] повреждать, портить

corrupted [kǝ'rʌptɪd] 1) поврежденный 2) прош. вр. от corrupt

corruption [kǝ'rʌpʃn] зд. грех

cost [kɒst] 1) цена 2) стоить

cot [kɒt] детская кроватка

cotton ['kɒtǝn] 1) хлопок 2) хлопковый

couch [kaʊʧ] диван

cough [kɒf] кашлять

could [kud] прош. вр. от can

council ['kaʊnsǝl] совет

count [kaʊnt] 1) считать; считаться 2) подсчёт

countersigned ['kaʊntǝr,saɪn] подписанный еще раз

countless ['kaʊntlǝs] бесчисленный

country ['kʌntrɪ] страна

couple ['kʌpl] пара

courage ['kʌrɪʤ] смелость

course [kɔ:s] 1) путь, курс 2) of course конечно

court [kɔ:t] суд

cousin ['kʌzǝn] двоюродный брат/двоюродная сестра

cover ['kʌvǝ] 1) покрывать 2) покрывало

covered ['kʌvǝrd] 1) покрытый 2) прош. вр. от cover

cow [kaʊ] 1) корова 2) коровий

coyote [kɔɪ'ǝʊti] койот

crack [kræk] 1) треснуть, расколоться; трещать 2) расселина, трещина

crash [kræʃ] 1) разбить; ломаться 2) грохот

crawl [krɔ:l] ползать

crawler [,krɔ:lǝ] ползущий

crazy ['kreɪzɪ] сумасшедший

creamy ['kri:mi] creamy white молочно-белый

create [kri'eɪt] создавать

creature ['kri:ʧǝ] создание, существо

creep [kri:p] ползти, пресмыкаться

cremate [krɪ'meɪt] кремировать

crematorium [kremǝ'tɔ:riǝm] крематорий

crept [krept] прош. вр. от creep

crest [krest] гребень

crevice ['krevɪs] щель

crime [kraɪm] преступление

crimson ['krɪmzǝn] багровый

criss-cross ['krɪs,krɒs] пересечение

criticize ['krɪtɪsaɪz] критиковать

crooked ['krʊkɪd] искривленный

croon [kru:n] напевать вполголоса

cross [krɒs] пересекать

crouching ['kraʊʧɪŋ] приседающий

crowd [kraʊd] 1) толпа 2) to crowd in окружать

crowded ['kraʊdɪd] полный людей

crown [kraʊn] 1) корона 2) короновать

crucified ['kru:sɪfaɪd] распятый

cruel ['kru:ǝl] жестокий

crumpled [krʌmpld] мятый

cry [kraɪ] 1) кричать, плакать 2) крик, плач

cubic ['kju:bɪk] кубический

cue [kju:] сигнал

cuff [kʌf] трепать

culture ['kʌlʧǝ] культура

cup [kʌp] 1) чашка 2) браться за что-либо

cure [kjʊǝ] 1) лекарство 2) излечивать

curious ['kjʊǝrɪǝs] любопытный

curls [kæ:ls] кудри

curly [kæ:li] завитый

current ['kʌrǝnt] текущий

curtain ['kæ:tǝn] 1) занавес, занавески 2) занавешивать

curtly ['kæ:tlɪ] резко

custom ['kʌstǝm] обычай

cut [kʌt] резать; пропускать

cygnet ['sɪgnǝt] молодой лебедь

cylinder ['sɪlɪndǝ] цилиндр

dab [dæb] 1) прикосновение 2) легко касаться; промакивать

daily ['deɪli] 1) ежедневный 2) ежедневно

damn [dæm] проклятие

damned [dæmd] проклятый

dance [dɑ:nts] 1) танцевать 2) танец

dancer ['dɑ:nsǝ] танцор

danger ['deɪnʤǝ] опасность

dangerous ['deɪnʤǝrǝs] опасный

dangerously ['deɪnʤǝrǝsli] опасно

dangle ['dæŋgl] болтаться, качаться

dare [deǝ] осмеливаться, сметь

dark [dɑ:k] тёмный

darkly ['dɑ:rkli] зд. сильно, обильно

darkness ['dɑ:knǝs] темнота

darling ['dɑ:rlɪŋ] дорогой, милый

dart [dɑ:t] броситься

dash [dæʃ] бросаться

date [deɪt] 1) дата; свидание 2) ходить на свидание, встречаться; датироваться

daughter ['dɔ:tǝ] дочь

day [deɪ] день

day-shift ['deɪʃɪft] дневная смена

dazzled ['dæzld] ослепленный

dazzling ['dæzlɪŋ] сияющий

dead [ded] мёртвый

deafening ['defnɪŋ] оглушительный

deal [di:l] иметь дело; разбираться

dear [dɪǝ] дорогой

death [deθ] смерть

death-conditioned [deθ kǝn'dɪʃǝnd] to be death-conditioned проходить программирование восприятия смерти

death-conditioning [deθ kǝn'dɪʃǝnɪŋ] программирование восприятия смерти

decant [dɪ'kænt] декантировать, фильтровать

decanted [dɪ'kæntɪd] декантированный

decanting [dɪ'kæntɪŋ] 1) декантирование 2) Ving от decant

decide [dɪ'saɪd] решать

decidedly [dɪ'saɪdɪdli] решительно

decision [dɪ'sɪʒn] решение

deck [dek] наряжать

declaim [dɪ'kleɪm] декламировать

decondition [di:kǝn'dɪʃǝn] отторгать

decorously ['dekǝrǝsli] чинно, благопристойно

decorum [dɪ'kɔ:rǝm] благопристойность, воспитанность

dedicated ['dedɪkeɪtɪd] посвященный

deep [di:p] глубокий

deepen ['di:pǝn] углубляться

deeply ['di:plɪ] глубоко

defect ['di:fekt] дефект

defend [dɪ'fend] защищать

deferential [,defǝ'renʃǝl] почтительный, уважительный

defiant [dɪ'faɪǝnt] непокорный, неуступчивый

defiantly [dɪ'faɪǝntli] непокорно

defile [dɪ'faɪl] осквернять

definite ['defǝnǝt] абсолютный, точный

definitely ['defǝnǝtli] абсолютно, точно

deflated [di:'fleɪtɪd] сдувшийся; обессиленый

deflect [dɪ'flekt] зд. перенести

degrade [dɪ'greɪd] унижать, понижать

delay [dɪ'leɪ] задержка

deliberately [dɪ'lɪbrɪtlɪ] умышленно

delicate ['delɪkǝt] деликатный

delicately ['delɪkǝtli] деликатно

delicious [dɪ'lɪʃǝs] вкусный, приятный

deliciously [dɪ'lɪʃǝsli] невероятно приятный

delight [dɪ'laɪt] восторг

delighted [dɪ'laɪtɪd] восторженный

delightfully [dɪ'laɪtfʊli] прелестно

deliver [dɪ'lɪvǝ] давать

ðelta ['deltǝ] дельта

ðelta-Minus ['deltǝ 'maɪnǝs] дельта-минус

delusion [dɪ'lu:ʒn] обман

demand [dɪ'mɑ:nd] 1) требовать 2) требование

democracy [dɪ'mɒkrǝsi] демократия

deny [dɪ'naɪ] отрицать

department [dɪ'pɑ:tmǝnt] отдел

departure [dɪ'pɑ:rʧǝr] отправление

depth [depθ] глубина

deputy ['depjʊti] заместитель

derision [dɪ'rɪʒǝn] насмешка

derisive [dɪ'raɪsɪv] насмешливый

descend [dɪ'send] опускаться

descending [dɪ'sendɪŋ] понижающийся

describe [dɪ'skraɪb] описывать

description [dɪ'skrɪpʃn] описание

deserted [dɪ'zæ:rtɪd] пустой

desert ['dezǝrt] пустыня

deserve [dɪ'zæ:rv] заслуживать

desire [dɪ'zaɪǝ] 1) желать 2) желание

desiring [dɪ'zaɪǝrɪŋ] желающий

despair [dɪ'speǝ] отчаяние

despairingly [dɪ'speǝrɪŋ] в отчаянии

desperate ['despǝrǝt] отчаянный

desperately ['despǝrǝtli] отчаянно

despise [dɪ'spaɪz] презирать

despised [dɪ'spaɪzd] 1) презираемый 2) прош. вр. от despise

despising [dɪs'paɪzɪŋ] презирающий

despite [dɪ'spaɪt] несмотря

destined ['destɪnd] призванный

destiny ['destǝni] судьба

destroying [dɪs'trɔɪɪŋ] уничтожающий

destruction [dɪ'strʌkʃn] разрушение

detail ['di:teɪl] деталь

detailed ['di:teɪld] зд. определенный, распределенный

detect [dɪ'tekt] замечать

determined [dɪ'tæ:rmɪnd] целеустремленный

detestable [dɪ'testǝbl] омерзительный

develop [dɪ'velǝp] развивать

developed [dɪ'velǝpt] 1) развитый 2) прош. вр. от develop

development [dɪ'velǝpmǝnt] развитие

ðevil ['devǝl] дьявол

diadem ['daɪǝdem] диадема

dialogue ['daɪǝlɒg] диалог

dictate [dɪk'teɪt] утверждать, определять

die [daɪ] умирать

diesel ['di:zǝl] дизельное топливо

difference ['dɪfǝrǝns] различие

different ['dɪfǝrǝnt] разный

differently ['dɪfǝrǝntli] по-разному

difficult ['dɪfɪkǝlt] трудный

dig [dɪg] копать

dignity ['dɪgnǝti] достоинство

dim [dɪm] 1) слабый, тусклый 2) тускнуть; гасить

diminish [dɪ'mɪnɪʃ] уменьшаться

dimmed [dɪmd] затянутый

dining-hall ['daɪnɪŋ hɔ:l] столовая, обеденный зал

dinner ['dɪnǝ] ужин

dip [dɪp] нырять

diphenylcyanarsine [dʌɪ'fi:nʌɪlsʌɪǝnɑ:,si:n] дифенилцианарсин

direction [dɪ'rekʃn] направление; указание

director [dǝ'rektǝ] директор

dirt [dæ:t] грязь

dirty ['dæ:tɪ] 1) грязный 2) пошлый

disagreeable [,dɪsǝ'gri:ǝbl] неприятный

disapproval [,dɪsǝ'pru:vǝl] осуждение

disapprove [,dɪsǝ'pru:v] осуждать

disapproving [,dɪsǝ'pru:vɪŋ] осуждающий

disbelief [,dɪsbɪ'li:f] неверие

discoloured [dɪs'kʌlǝd] обесцвеченный

discomfort [dɪs'kʌmfǝrt] дискомфорт

discouraged [dɪs'kʌrɪʤ] отбивать охоту

discourse ['dɪskɔ:rs] спор

discover [dɪ'skʌvǝ] обнаруживать

discovery [dɪ'skʌvǝri] открытие, находка

discreditable [dɪs'kredɪtǝbl] постыдный, дискредитирующий

discuss [dɪ'skʌs] обсуждать

disease [dɪ'zi:z] болезнь

disengage [,dɪsɪn'geɪʤ] отдаляться

disgraceful [dɪs'greɪsfl] постыдный, недостойный

disgrace [dɪs'greɪs] позор

disgust [dɪs'gʌst] 1) отвращение 2) отвращать

disgusted [dɪs'gʌstɪd] чувствующий отвращение

disgusting [dɪs'gʌstɪŋ] 1) отвратительный 2) Ving от disgust

disintegration [dɪs,ɪntɪ'greɪʃǝn] измельчение, разрушение

disk [dɪsk] диск

dislike [dɪs'laɪk] неприязнь

dismiss [dɪs'mɪs] отвергать

disobey [,dɪsǝ'beɪ] не подчиняться

dispersed [dɪ'spæ:rs] расходиться

display [dɪ'spleɪ] отображать

disquieting [dɪs'kwaɪǝtɪŋ] беспокойно

distance ['dɪstǝns] расстояние

distant ['dɪstǝnt] дальний

distinct [dɪ'stɪŋkt] четкий

distinction [dɪ'stɪŋkʃn] различие

distinguished [dɪ'stɪŋgwɪʃt] выдающийся, важный

distorted [dɪ'stɔ:rtɪd] искаженный

distraction [dɪ'strækʃn] отвлечение

distraught [dɪ'strɔ:t] потерявшийся

distress [dɪ'stres] горе, беда

distressed [dɪ'strest] испытывающий тревогу

distressing [dɪ'stresɪŋ] тревожный

distributed [dɪ'strɪbjʊt] раздавать

distribution [,dɪstrɪ'bju:ʃn] раздача

district ['dɪstrɪkt] район

divide [dɪ'vaɪd] разделять

divided [dɪ'vaɪdɪd] 1) разделенный 2) прош. вр. от divide

division [dɪ'vɪʒn] разделение

do [du:] делать

doctor ['dɒktǝ] врач

dog [dɒg] 1) собака 2) преследовать

dogskin ['dɒgskɪn] собачья кожа

domed [dǝʊmd] сводчатый

door [dɔ:] дверь

doorway ['dɔ:weɪ] дверной проём

dormitory ['dɔ:rmɪtri] общежитие

dose [dǝʊs] доза

doth [dʌθ] устар. does

double ['dʌbl] 1) двойной 2) удваивать

doubt [daʊt] 1) сомневаться 2) сомнение

doubtfully ['daʊtfǝli] сомневаясь

down [daʊn] 1) вниз 2) выводить из строя; выпивать залпом

downstairs ['daʊn'steǝz] нижний этаж здания, внизу

downwards ['daʊnwǝrdz] вниз

dozen ['dʌzǝn] дюжина

dozing ['dǝʊzɪŋ] спящий

drag [dræg] тащить

dramatic [drǝ'mætɪk] драматичный

drank [dræŋk] прош. вр. от drink

draw [drɔ:] рисовать

drawer ['drɔ:ǝ] ящик

drawing ['drɔ:ɪŋ] 1) рисунок 2) Ving от draw

drawn [drɔ:n] прич. прош. вр. от draw

dreadful ['dredfǝl] ужасный

dream [dri:m] 1) сон; мечта 2) видеть сны

dreamt [dremt] прош. вр. и прич. прош. вр. от dream

dress [dres] 1) платье 2) одеваться

dressed [drest] одетый

dressing-room ['dresɪŋrʊm] раздевалка

drew [dru:] прош. вр. и прич. прош. вр. от draw

dried [draɪd] засохший

drill [drɪl] подготовка

drilling ['drɪlɪŋ] подготовка

drink [drɪŋk] 1) пить 2) напиток

dripping ['drɪpɪŋ] текущий

driven ['drɪvn] to be driven out быть изгнанным

driver ['draɪvǝ] водитель

drop [drɒp] 1) капля 2) уронить; упасть

drove [drǝʊv] прош. вр. от drive

drown [draʊn] топить

drowsy ['draʊzi] сонный

drug [drʌg] лекарство; наркотик

drum [drʌm] барабан

drunk [drʌŋk] 1) пьяный 2) прич. прош. вр. от drink

dry [draɪ] 1) сухой 2) сохнуть, высыхать

due [dju:] должный

dug [dʌg] прош. вр. и прич. прош. вр. от dig

duly ['dju:li] должным образом, правильно

dumb [dʌm] глупый

dumb-waiter ['dʌm'weɪtǝ] стойка с полками

durations [djʊ'reɪʃn] продолжительность, отрезок времени

during ['djʊǝrɪŋ] во время

dust [dʌst] пыль

dusty ['dʌstɪ] пыльный

duty ['dju:tɪ] долг

dwarf [dwɔ:rf] карлик

dying ['daɪɪŋ] 1) умирающий 2) Ving от die

dynamo ['daɪnǝmǝʊ] генератор

each [i:ʧ] каждый

eagerly ['i:gǝrli] с нетерпением

eagle ['i:gl] орёл

ear [ɪǝ] ухо

earlier ['æ:lɪǝ] раньше

earliest ['æ:lɪɪst] превосх. ст. от early

early ['æ:lɪ] рано

earn [æ:rn] зарабатывать

earnestly ['æ:nɪstli] честно

earth [æ:θ] земля

easier ['i:zɪǝ] проще

easily ['i:zɪlɪ] легко

east [i:st] восток

easy ['i:zɪ] легко, лёгкий

eat [i:t] есть

eaten ['i:tn] прич. прош. вр. от eat

eau-de-cologne ['ǝʊdǝkǝ'lǝʊn] одеколон

eccentricity [,eksen'trɪsǝti] эксцентричность

echo ['ekǝʊ] вторить эхом

éclair [eɪ'kleǝ] эклер

economic [,i:kǝ'nɒmɪk] экономический

ecstasy ['ekstǝsi] экстаз

ectogenesis [,ektǝʊ'ʤenɪsɪs] эктогенез

edge [eʤ] 1) край 2) двигаться

edition [ɪ'dɪʃn] издание

education [,edjʊ'keɪʃn] образование

effect [ɪ'fekt] результат, эффект

effective [ɪ'fektɪv] эффективный

effectively [ɪ'fektɪvli] эффективно

effort ['efǝt] усилие

egg [eg] яйцо

eight [eɪt] восемь

eighteen [,eɪ'ti:n] восемнадцать

eighth [eɪtθ] восьмой

eighty ['eɪti] восемдесять

eighty-three ['eɪti θri:] восемьдесят три

either ['aɪðǝ] 1) either… or или… или 2) тоже нет

elaborate [ɪ'læbǝrǝt] 1) продумывать 2) замысловатый

elated [ɪ'leɪtɪd] ободренный

elbow ['elbǝʊ] 1) локоть 2) ударить локтем, пихнуть

electric [ɪ'lektrɪk] электрический

electrical [ɪ'lektrɪkǝl] электрический

electrify [ɪ'lektrɪfaɪ] электрифицировать

electromagnetic [ɪ,lektrǝʊmæg'netɪk] электромагнетический

element ['elɪmǝnt] элемент

elementary [,elɪ'mentǝri] начальный

eleven [ɪ'levǝn] одиннадцать

else [els] ещё

elsewhere [els'weǝ] где-либо ещё

emaciated [ɪ'meɪsieɪtɪd] истощеный

embark [ɪm'bɑ:rk] отправляться

embarrassment [ɪm'bærǝsmǝnt] конфуз

embrace [ɪm'breɪs] принимать

embryo ['embri,ǝʊ] эмбрион

emerge [ɪ'mæ:rʤ] появляться

emigrate ['emɪgreɪt] эмигрировать

emotion [ɪ'mǝʊʃǝn] чувство

emotional [ɪ'mǝʊʃ(ǝ)nǝl] эмоциональный

emotionally [ɪ'mǝʊʃǝnǝli] эмоционально

emptiness ['emptinǝs] пустота

empty ['emptɪ] 1) пустой 2) опустошать

enchanted [ɪn'ʧɑ:ntɪd] завороженный

enclosed [ɪn'klǝʊzd] закрытый

encounter [ɪn'kaʊntǝ] встречать

encouraged [ɪn'kʌrɪʤd] ободренный

end [end] 1) конец 2) заканчиваться

ending ['endɪŋ] 1) конец 2) Ving от end

endless ['endlǝs] бесконечный

enemy ['enǝmɪ] враг

energetically [,enǝ'ʤetɪkli] энергично

engineer [,enʤɪ'nɪǝ] инженер

engineering [,enʤɪ'nɪǝrɪŋ] инженерное искусство, планирование

engine ['enʤɪn] двигатель

England ['ɪŋglǝnd] Англия

English ['ɪŋglɪʃ] английский

enjoy [ɪn'ʤɔɪ] наслаждаться

enormous [ɪ'nɔ:rmǝs] огромный

enough [ɪ'nʌf] достаточно

enquire [ɪn'kwaɪǝ] спрашивать

enseamed [en'si:md] заправленный

entail [ɪn'teɪl] требовать

enter ['entǝ] входить

enthusiasm [ɪn'θju:zi,æzǝm] энтузиазм

enthusiastic [ɪn,θju:zi'æstɪk] увлеченный

enthusiastically [ɪn,θju:zɪ'æstɪkli] увлеченно

entire [ɪn'taɪǝ] весь

entitled [ɪn'taɪtǝld] иметь право

entity ['entǝti] сущность

entrance ['entrǝns] вход

envious ['enviǝs] завистливый

enviously ['enviǝsli] завистливо

environment [ɪn'vaɪrǝnmǝnt] среда

envy ['envi] зависть

Epsilon ['epsɪlɒn] эпсилон

equal ['i:kwǝl] равный

equip [ɪ'kwɪp] снабжать

equipment [ɪ'kwɪpmǝnt] снаряжение

equivalent [ɪ'kwɪvǝlǝnt] эквивалент

era ['ɪǝrǝ] эра

erogenous [ɪ'rɒʤǝnǝs] эрогенный

erotic [ɪ'rɒtɪk] эротичный

escape [ɪs'keɪp] вырваться

essence ['esǝns] сущность

essential [ɪ'senʃǝl] главный, необходимый

estrangement [ɪ'streɪnʤmǝnt] отдаление, отчужденность

eternity [ɪ'tæ:rnǝti] вечность

ethics ['eθɪk] этика

ethyl [,iθaɪl] этил

Eton ['i:tǝn] Итон (университет)

Etonians [i:'tǝʊnjǝnz] обитатели Итона

Europe ['jʊǝrǝp] Европа

evaporate [ɪ'væpǝreɪt] испаряться

even ['i:vǝn] даже

evening ['i:vnɪŋ] вечер

event [ɪ'vent] событие

eventually [ɪ'venʧuǝlɪ] в итоге

ever ['evǝ] когда-либо

ever-growing ['evǝ 'grǝʊɪŋ] постоянно растущий

every ['evrɪ] каждый

everybody ['evrɪbɒdɪ] каждый, все

everyone ['evrɪwʌn] каждый, все

everything ['evrɪθɪŋ] всё

everywhere ['evri,weǝ] везде

evidently ['evɪdǝntli] очевидно

exactly [ɪg'zæktlɪ] точно

examine [ɪg'zæmɪn] изучать, рассматривать

example [ɪg'zɑ:mpl] пример

exasperated [ɪg'zɑ:spǝ,reɪtɪd] раздраженный

excellent ['eksǝlǝnt] отличный

except [ɪk'sept] кроме

exceptional [ɪk'sepʃǝnǝl] великолепный

excess [ɪk'ses] 1) избыток 2) избыточный

excited [ɪk'saɪtɪd] возбуждённый

excitedly [ɪk'saɪtɪdli] возбужденно

excitement [ɪk'saɪtmǝnt] восторг, предвкушение

exciting [ɪk'saɪtɪŋ] возбуждающий

exclaim [ɪk'skleɪm] восклицать

exclusive [ɪk'sklu:sɪv] эксклюзивный

exclusively [ɪk'sklu:sɪvli] эксклюзивно

exclusiveness [ɪks'klu:sɪvnǝs] эксклюзивность

excruciating [ɪk'skru:ʃi,eɪtɪŋ] мучительный, томительный

ex-ðirector [,eksdɪ'rektǝ] бывший директор

execute [eksɪ,kju:t] выполнять

exhausted [ɪg'zɔ:stɪd] обессиленный

exhibition [,eksɪ'bɪʃn] выставка

exist [ɪg'zɪst] существовать

existence [ɪg'zɪstǝns] существование

existing [ɪg'zɪstɪŋ] 1) существующий 2) Ving от exist

expect [ɪk'spekt] ожидать

expense [ɪks'pens] трата

experience [ɪk'spɪǝrɪǝnts] опыт

experiment [ɪk'sperɪmǝnt] 1) эксперимент 2) проводить эксперимент

experimenter [ɪks'perɪmentǝ] проводящий опыт

expert ['ekspæ:t] специалист

expire [ɪk'spaɪǝ] зд. затихать

explain [ɪk'spleɪn] объяснять

explanation [,eksplǝ'neɪʃǝn] объяснение

explode [ɪk'splǝʊd] взрываться

explosion [ɪk'splǝʊʒǝn] взрыв

express [ɪk'spres] выражать

expression [ɪk'spreʃn] выражение

exquisitely ['ekskwɪzɪtli] восхитительно

external [ɪk'stæ:rnǝl] внешний

extinct [ɪk'stɪŋkt] вымерший

extra ['ekstrǝ] 1) дополнительный 2) extra-strong очень сильный

extract [k'strækt] экстракт

extraordinarily [ɪk'strɔ:rdǝnǝrǝli] невероятно

extreme [ɪk'stri:m] экстремально

extremely [ɪks'tri:mlɪ] чрезвычайно

exultation [,egzʌl'teɪʃǝn] ликование

eye [aɪ] 1) глаз 2) смотреть

eyebrow ['aɪbraʊ] бровь

eyeless ['aɪlɪs] безглазый

eyelid ['aɪ,lɪd] веко

façade [fǝ'sɑ:d] фасад

face [feɪs] 1) лицо 2) находиться лицом к; противостоять

facial ['feɪʃǝl] лицевой

fact [fækt] факт

factory ['fæktri] фабрика

fade [feɪd] постепенно исчезать

faded ['feɪdɪd] размытый, неясный

fading ['feɪdɪŋ] 1) исчезающий 2) Ving от fade

fail [feɪl] недоставать, подводить; слабеть

failure ['feɪljǝ] провал

faint [feɪnt] 1) слабый 2) падать в обморок

fainter ['feɪntǝ] срав. ст. от faint

fair [feǝ] справедливый

fair-haired [,feǝ'heǝd] светловолосый

fairly ['feǝlɪ] относительно

Falkland ['fɔ:lklǝnd] Falkland ɪslands Фолклендские острова

fall [fɔ:l] падать

fallen ['fɔ:lǝn] прич. прош. вр. от fall

falling ['fɔ:lɪŋ] 1) падающий 2) Ving от fall

false [fɔ:ls] лживый; неверный

falter ['fɔ:ltǝ] сбиваться

familiar [fǝ'mɪlɪǝ] знакомый

familiarity [fǝ,mɪlɪ'ærǝti] хорошая осведомленность

family ['fæmǝlɪ] семья

famous ['feɪmǝs] знаменитый

fan [fæn] вентилятор

far [fɑ:] 1) далёкий 2) далеко

farm [fɑ:m] ферма

fascinating ['fæsɪneɪtɪŋ] удивительный

fascination [,fæsɪ'neɪʃǝn] очарование

fast [fɑ:st] быстрый, скорый

fasten ['fɑ:sǝn] закреплять

faster ['fɑ:stǝ] срав. ст. от fast

fat [fæt] толстый

father ['fɑ:ðǝ] отец

fault [fɔ:lt] вина; недостаток

favourite ['feɪvǝrǝt] любимый

fear [fɪǝ] 1) страх 2) бояться

feather ['feðǝ] перо

feathered ['feðǝd] с перьями

feathering ['feðǝrɪŋ] процесс закрепления перьев (на стрелах)

feel [fi:l] чувствовать, ощущать

feeling ['fi:lɪŋ] чувство

feely ['fi:li] зд. порнография

feely-palace ['fi:li 'pplɪs] зд. кинотеатр

feet [fi:t] мн. ч. от foot

fell [fel] 1) прош. вр. от fall 2) свалить, сбить с ног

fellow ['felǝʊ] 1) парень; товарищ 2) дружеский

felt [felt] прош. вр., прич. прош. вр. от feel

female ['fi:meɪl] 1) женщина 2) женский

fence [fens] забор

fencing ['fensɪŋ] ограда

fend [fend] to fend off отмахиваться

ferocious [fǝ'rǝʊʃǝs] рьяный; жестокий

ferro-concrete [ferǝʊ'kɒŋkri:t] железобетон

fertile ['fæ:rtaɪl] способный к зачатию

fertilization [,fæ:rtǝlaɪ'zeɪʃn] оплодотворение

fertilizer ['fæ:tǝlaɪzǝ] оплодотворитель

fertilizing ['fæ:tɪlaɪzɪŋ] fertilizing room комната оплодовторения

festival ['festɪvǝl] фестиваль

fetus ['fi:tǝs] плод

fever ['fi:vǝ] жар

feverish ['fi:vǝrɪʃ] лихорадочный

few [fju:] 1) мало 2) a few несколько

field [fi:ld] поле

fiend [fi:nd] изверг

fiercely ['fɪǝslɪ] неистово

fifteen [,fɪf'ti:n] пятнадцать

fifth [fɪfθ] пятый

fifty ['fɪfti] пятдесят

fifty-five ['fɪfti faɪv] пятдесят пять

fifty-four ['fɪfti fɔ:] пятдесят четыре

fifty-six ['fɪfti sɪks] пятдесят шесть

fight [faɪt] 1) драка 2) драться

fighter ['faɪtǝ] боец

figure ['fɪgǝ] 1) фигура 2) выяснять

fill [fɪl] наполнять, заполнять

film [fɪlm] фильм

filth [fɪlθ] грязь

filthy ['fɪlθi] грязный

final ['faɪnǝl] завершающий

finally ['faɪnǝlɪ] наконец

find [faɪnd] 1) находить 2) находка

fine [faɪn] 1) славный, хороший; здоровый; изящный 2) штрафовать

finest ['faɪnɪst] превосх. ст. от fine

finger ['fɪŋgǝ] палец

finish ['fɪnɪʃ] заканчивать

finished ['fɪnɪʃt] 1) законченный 2) прош. вр. и прич. прош. вр. от finish

fire ['faɪǝ] 1) огонь; пожар 2) стрелять; увольнять

firework ['faɪǝr,wæ:rk] салют

firm [fæ:m] твёрдый

first [fæ:st] первый

first-class ['fæ:st'klɑ:s] первый класс

first-comer [fæ:st 'kʌmǝ] новичок

first-floor ['fæ:stflɔ:] первый этаж

fish [fɪʃ] рыба

fist [fɪst] кулак

fit [fɪt] подходить

five [faɪv] пять

five-stepping [faɪv 'stepɪŋ] танцевать

flabby ['flæbi] дряблый

flaccid ['flæsɪd] обрюзгший

flannel ['flænǝl] фланель (ткань)

flap [flæp] 1) лоскут 2) хлопать

flat [flæt] 1) плоский 2) спущенный (о колесе, шине)

flee [fli:] бежать

flesh [fleʃ] плоть, тело

flew [flu:] прош. вр. от fly

flight [flaɪt] полёт

flinch [flɪnʧ] дергаться

flivver ['flɪvǝ] автомобиль марки, Форд,

float [flǝʊt] плавать, качаться на волнах

flood [flʌd] 1) потоп 2) затапливать

flood-lighted [flʌd 'laɪtɪd] залитый светом

floor [flɔ:] пол

flop [flɒp] упасть

flour [flaʊǝ] мука

flour-substitute ['flaʊǝ 'sʌbstɪtju:t] заменитель муки

flow [flǝʊ] 1) течь 2) поток, струя

flower ['flaʊǝ] цветок

flowering ['flaʊǝrɪŋ] цветущий

flown [flǝʊn] прич. прош. вр. от fly

fluent ['flu:ǝnt] говорящий хорошо на каком-либо языке

flung [flʌŋ] прош. вр. и прич. прош. вр. от fling

flush [flʌʃ] 1) румянец 2) заливаться румянцем

flushed [flʌʃt] 1) залитый румянцем 2) прош. вр. от flush

flute [flu:t] флейта

flutter ['flʌtǝr] колебаться

fly [flaɪ] 1) летать 2) муха

flyer ['flaɪǝ] летчик

focused ['fǝʊkǝsd] сосредоточенный

fog [fɒg] туман

follow ['fɒlǝʊ] следовать за

fondle ['fɒndl] мять

food [fu:d] еда

fool [fu:l] 1) дурак 2) одурачить

foolish ['fu:lɪʃ] глупый

foot [fʊt] 1) ступня, нога 2) фут = 0,3048 м

footmen ['fʊtmǝn] лакеи

footstep ['fʊtstep] след, шаг

for [fɔ:] для

forbid [fǝr'bɪd] запрещать

force [fɔ:s] 1) сила 2) принуждать силой

forced [fɔ:rst] прош. вр. и прич. прош. вр. от force

Ford [fɔ:rd] Форд (= Бог)

fordship ['fɔ:dʃɪp] иск. lordship

Fordson ['fɔ:dsʌn] ругательство

forefinger ['fɔ:r,fɪŋgǝ] указательный палец

forehead ['fɒrɪd] лоб

forest ['fɒrɪst] лес

forever [fǝ'revǝ] навсегда

forget [fǝ'get] забывать

forgive [fǝr'gɪv] прощать

forgiveness [fǝr'gɪvnǝs] прощение, милость

forgot [fǝ'gɒt] прош. вр. от forget

forgotten [fǝ'gɒtǝn] 1) забытый 2) прич. прош. вр. от forget

form [fɔ:m] формировать

formula ['fɔ:rmjǝlǝ] формула

fortunately ['fɔ:rʧǝnǝtli] к счастью

fortune ['fɔ:rʧǝn] удача

forty ['fɔ:tɪ] сорок

forty-four ['fɔ:ti fɔ:] сорок четыре

forty-seven ['fɔ:ti 'sevn] сорок семь

forty-story ['fɔ:ti 'stɔ:ri] 40-этажный

forward ['fɔ:wǝd] вперёд

fought [fɔ:t] прош. вр. и прич. прош. вр. от fight

found [faʊnd] 1) прош. вр., прич. прош. вр. от find 2) основывать

foundation [faʊn'deɪʃn] основа

foundry ['faʊndri] литейная

four [fɔ:] четыре

four-dimensional [fɔ:dɪ'menʃǝnl] четырехмерный

four-hour [fɔ:r 'aʊǝ] четырехчасовой

fourteen [,fɔ:'ti:n] четырнадцать

fourteenth ['fɔ:'ti:nθ] четырнадцатый

fourth [fɔ:θ] четвёртый

fox [fɒks] лиса

frantic ['fræntɪk] отчаянный; неистовый

frantically ['fræntɪkli] отчаянно; неистово

freckled ['frekld] покрытый веснушками

free [fri:] свободный

freedom ['fri:dǝm] свобода

freemartin [fri:'mɑ:tɪn] зд. бесплодная женщина

free-swimming [fri:'swɪmɪŋ] свободно передвигающийся

frenzied ['frenzid] приведенный в бешенство

frenzy ['frenzi] безумие, бешенство

frequent ['fri:kwǝnt] частый

frequently ['fri:kwǝntli] часто

fresh [freʃ] свежий

friction ['frɪkʃn] трение

Friday ['fraɪdeɪ] пятница

friend [frend] друг

friendly ['frendlɪ] дружелюбный

friendship ['frendʃɪp] дружба

frightened ['fraɪtǝnd] испуганный

frightful ['fraɪtfǝl] ужасный

fringe [frɪnʤ] край

from [frɒm] из, от

front [frʌnt] передная часть, переднаяя сторона

frontier [frʌn'tɪǝr] рубеж

frown [fraʊn] хмуриться

frowning ['fraʊnɪŋ] 1) хмурый 2) Ving от frown

frozen ['frǝʊzǝn] замороженный

fruit [fru:t] фрукт, плод

fry [fraɪ] жарить

fulfill [fʊl'fɪld] выполнять

fulfillment [fʊl'fɪlmǝnt] удовлетворение

full [fʊl] полный

full-sized [fʊl saɪzd] полноразмерный

fun [fʌn] веселье

fungus ['fʌŋgǝs] гриб

funny ['fʌnɪ] забавный, смешной

fur [fæ:] мех

furious ['fjʊǝriǝs] яростный

further ['fæ:ðǝ] дальнейший

fury ['fjʊǝrɪ] ярость

fuse [fju:z] сливаться, соединяться

fuss [fʌs] 1) суета 2) суетиться

future ['fju:ʧǝ] будущее

gait [geɪt] походка

gallery ['gælǝri] галерея

gallop ['gælǝp] нестить вперед

galloping ['gælǝpɪŋ] быстротекущий

game [geɪm] игра

gamete ['gæmi:t] гамета

Gamma ['gæmǝ] гамма

Gamma-green ['ggmǝ gri:n] гамма-зеленый (цвет касты)

Gamma-Minus ['ggmǝ 'maɪnǝs] гамма-минус

Gamma-Plus ['ggmǝ plʌs] гамма-плюс

gap [gæp] щель

gape [geɪp] таращиться открыв рот

garbage ['gɑ:rbɪʤ] мусор

garden ['gɑ:dǝn] сад

garment ['gɑ:rmǝnt] элемент одежды

gas [gæs] 1) газ 2) отравлять газом

gas-mask ['gæsmɑ:sks] противогаз

gasp [gɑ:sp] 1) затруднённое дыхание, сильный резкий вдох 2) перехватывать (о дыхании)

gates [geɪts] ворота

gather ['gæðǝr] собираться

gaudily ['gɔ:dɪli] броско, ярко

gave [geɪv] прош. вр. от give

Gazette [gǝ'zet] газета

gear [gɪǝ] оборудование; шестерня; передача

general ['ʤenǝrǝl] общий

generality [,ʤenǝ'rælǝti] обобщенное понятие

generate ['ʤenǝreɪt] производить

generation [,ʤenǝ'reɪʃn] поколение

generosity [,ʤenǝ'rɒsǝti] щедрость

generous ['ʤenǝrǝs] щедрый

genial ['ʤi:niǝl] добродушный

gentleman ['ʤentǝlmǝn] джентельмен

genuine ['ʤenjʊɪn] искренний

genuinely ['ʤenjʊɪnli] искренне

geography [ʤi:'ɒgrǝfi] география

geological [,ʤi:ǝ'lɒʤɪkǝl] геологический

geometrical [,ʤi:ǝ'metrɪkǝl] геометрический

geranium [ʤǝ'reɪniǝm] герань

gesture ['ʤesʧǝ] 1) жест 2) жестикулировать

get [get] получать; становиться; добираться; понимать

ghastly ['gɑ:stlɪ] жуткий

ghost [gǝʊst] дух

giant ['ʤaɪǝnt] 1) гигант, великан 2) гигантский

gigantic [ʤaɪ'gæntɪk] гигантский

ginger ['ʤɪnʤǝr] рыжий (цвет волос)

girdle ['ʤɪnʤǝ] пояс

girl [gæ:l] девочка, девушка

give [gɪv] давать

given [gɪvǝn] прич. прош. вр. от give

giving ['gɪvɪŋ] Ving от give

glad [glæd] рад

glance [glɑ:ns] 1) взгляд 2) взглянуть

gland [glænd] железа

glare [gleǝ] сердито смотреть

glass [glɑ:s] стекло; стакан

gleam [gli:m] сиять

glint [glɪnt] 1) проблеск 2) блестеть

globe [glǝʊb] планета

gloomily ['glu:mili] угрюмо

gloomy ['glu:mi] угрюмый

gloved [glʌvd] одетый в перчатки

glue [glu:] 1) клей 2) приклеивать, приклеиваться

glue-pot [glu:pɒt] емкость для варки клея

glum [glʌm] хмурый

go [gǝu] ходить, идти

goal [gǝʊl] цель

God [gɒd] бог

goggle-eyed ['gɒgl'aɪd] в защитных очках

golden ['gǝʊldǝn] 1) золотой 2) golden-haired c золотистыми волосами

golf [gɒlf] гольф

golfer ['gɒlfǝ] гольфист

gone [gɒn] прич. прош. вр. от go

good [gud] хороший

good-bye [gud'baɪ] до свидания

good-humoured [,gʊd 'hju:mǝrd] добродушный

good-looking [,gʊd 'lʊkɪŋ] симпатичный

goodly ['gʊdli] красивый, хороший

Good-morning [gʊd 'mɔ:nɪŋ] доброе утро

Good-morrow [gʊd 'mɒrǝʊ] зд. иск. добрый день

good-natured [,gʊd 'neɪʧǝrd] добродушный

goodness ['gʊdnǝs] доброта

good-night ['gʊdnaɪt] спокойной ночи

goods-consuming [gʊdz kǝn'sju:mɪŋ] потребляющий

gorgeous ['gɔ:rʤǝs] прекрасный

gorse [ɔ:rs] можжевельник

gossip ['gɒsɪp] сплетничать

got [gɒt] прош. вр. от get

gourd [gʊǝrd] зд. сосуд

government ['gʌvǝrnmǝnt] правительство

gradual ['græʤuǝl] постепенный

gradually ['græʤuǝli] постепенно

gramme [græm] грамм

grand [grænd] большой

grasp [grɑ:sp] 1) хватка 2) хватать

grassy ['grɑ:si] покрытый травой

grating ['greɪtɪŋ] решетка

gratuitous [grǝ'tju:ɪtǝs] бесполезный

grave [greɪv] серьёзный

gravely ['greɪvli] мрачно; сосредоточенно

grease [gri:s] жир, машинное масло

great [greɪt] великий

greater ['greɪtǝ] срав. ст. от great

greatest ['greɪtɪst] превосх. ст. от great

greedily ['gri:dili] жадно

green [gri:n] зелёный

green-and-white [gri:n ænd waɪt] бело-зеленый

green-uniformed [gri:n 'ju:nɪfɔ:md] одетый в зеленую униформу

greet [gri:t] приветствовать

grew [gru:] прош. вр. от grow

grey [greɪ] серый

grief [gri:f] горе

grievance ['gri:vǝns] обида

grim [grɪm] мрачный

grimace ['grɪmǝs] 1) гримаса 2) гримасничать

grimacing [grɪ'meɪsɪŋ] зд. неестественный

grimly ['grɪmlɪ] мрачно

grinding ['graɪndɪŋ] скрежет

grin [grɪn] улыбаться, ухмыляться

grinning ['grɪnɪŋ] улыбающийся

grip [grɪp] сжимать

groan [grǝʊn] 1) стон 2) стонать

grossly ['grǝʊsli] чрезвычайно

grotesque [grǝʊ'tesk] несуразный

ground [graʊnd] земля

group [gru:p] 1) группа 2) собираться

groveling ['grɒvǝlɪŋ] пресмыкательство

grow [grǝʊ] расти, становиться

growing ['grǝʊɪŋ] растущий

gruffly ['grʌfli] хмуро

grumbled ['grʌmbl] ворчать

guaranteed [,geærǝn'ti:d] 1) гарантированный 2) гарантированно

guard [gɑ:d] 1) осмотрительность, осторожность; охранник 2) охранять

guardian ['gɑ:rdiǝn] попечитель

guess [ges] гадать, догадываться

guest [gest] гость

guide [gaɪd] гид

guiltily ['gɪltɪli] виновато

guilty ['gɪltɪ] виноватый

gully ['gʌli] овраг, лощина

gun [gʌn] оружие

gymnastic [ʤɪm'næstɪk] гимнастический

habit ['hæbɪt] привычка

had [hæd] прош. вр., прич. прош. вр. от have

hail [heɪl] окликать, вызывать

hair [heǝ] волосы

hairless ['heǝrlǝs] лысый

half [hɑ:f] половина

half-breed ['hɑ:fbri:d] полукровка, метис

half-gramme [hɑ:f grgm] пол-грамма

half-holiday [hɑ:f 'hɒlǝdeɪ] половина выходного

half-past [hɑ:f pɑ:st] половина после

half-unzippered [hɑ:fʌn'zɪpǝd] наполовину расстегнутый

hall [hɔ:l] зал, коридор, аудитория

hallucinant [hǝ'lu:sɪnǝnt] вызывающий галлюцинации

haloed ['heɪlǝʊd] окруженный

halt [hɔ:lt] останавливаться

hand [hænd] 1) рука 2) вручать

hand-clapping [hhnd 'klkpɪŋ] хлопанье рук

handful ['hændfʊl] полно

handiest ['hændɪɪst] превосх. ст. от handy

handkerchief ['hæŋkǝ,ʧɪf] платок

handsome ['hænsǝm] красивый

hang [hæŋ] висеть

hangar ['hæŋǝ] ангар

happen ['hæpǝn] случаться, происходить

happier [hæpɪǝ] срав. ст. от happy

happiest ['hæpɪɪst] превосх. ст. от happy

happily ['hæpɪli] с радостью

happiness ['hæpinǝs] счастье

happy ['hæpɪ] счастливый

hard [hɑ:d] тяжёлый, твёрдый

harder ['hɑ:dǝ] срав. ст. от hard

hardly ['hɑ:dlɪ] едва

hard-working ['hɑ:d,wæ:kɪŋ] работящий, усердный

harm [hɑ:m] 1) вред 2) вредить

harmless ['hɑ:rmlǝs] безвредный

harsh [hɑ:ʃ] жёсткий

has [hæz] 3 л. ед. наст. вр. от have

hast [hæst] иск. has

hasten ['heɪsnd] спешить, быстро идти

hastily ['heɪstɪli] на скорую руку

hat [hæt] шапка

hatch [hæʧ] вылупляться, появляться

hatchery ['hæʧǝri] инкубатор

hatchway ['hæʧ,weɪ] люк

hate [heɪt] 1) ненависть 2) ненавидеть

hateful ['heɪtfǝl] ненавистный, ненавидящий

hatred ['heɪtrɪd] ненависть

haunt ['hɔ:nt] навещать; тревожить

haunting ['hɔ:ntɪŋ] навязчивый

have [hæv] иметь

hazel ['heɪzǝl] лесной орех

he [hi:] он

head [hed] 1) голова 2) направляться

headache ['hedeɪk] головная боль

headline ['hed,laɪn] заголовок

health ['helθ] здоровье

healthy ['helθi] здоровый

heap [hi:p] куча

hear [hɪǝ] слышать

heard [hæ:rd] прош. вр. и прич. прош. вр. от hear

heat [hi:t] жар

heat-conditioned [hi:t kǝn'dɪʃǝnd] запрограммированный любить жару

heath [hi:θ] пустошь

heather ['heðǝ] вереск

heave [hi:v] напрягаться

heaven ['hevǝn] рай

heavier ['hуvɪǝ] срав. ст. от heavy

heavily ['hevɪlɪ] 1) сильно испачкать 2) тяжело дышать

heavy ['hevɪ] тяжёлый

heavyweight ['hevɪweɪt] тяжеловес

heel [hi:l] каблук, пятка

height [haɪt] 1) высота 2) рост

heinous ['heɪnǝs] мерзкий, гнусный

held [held] прош. вр. от hold

helicopter ['helɪ,kɒptǝ] вертолет

hell [hel] ад

help [help] 1) помогать 2) помощь

hem [hem] подол

hence [hens] поэтому

her [hæ:] её, ей, ею, ней

herald ['herǝld] предвестник

here [hɪǝ] здесь

heredity [hǝ'redǝti] наследственность

heretical [hɪ'retɪkǝl] еретический

hermitage ['hæ:rmɪtɪʤ] приют отшельника

hero ['hɪǝrǝʊ] герой

heroic [hɪ'rǝʊɪk] героический

heroism ['herǝʊ,ɪzm] героизм

herself [hæ:'self] себя

hesitant ['hezɪtǝnt] сомневающийся

hesitate ['hezɪteɪt] сомневаться

hesitating ['hezɪteɪtɪŋ] 1) сомневающийся 2) Ving от hesitate

hesitation [,hezɪ'teɪʃn] нерешительность

hid [hɪd] прош. вр. от hide

hide [haɪd] прятаться

hideous ['hɪdiǝs] ужасный

hideously ['hɪdɪǝsli] омерзительно

hiding ['haɪdɪŋ] 1) прячущийся 2) Ving от hide

hiding-place ['haɪdɪŋpleɪs] тайник; убежище

high [haɪ] высокий

high-caste [haɪ kɑ:st] принадлежащий к более высокой касте

higher ['haɪǝ] сравн. ст. от high

highest ['haɪɪst] превосх. ст. от high

high-grade ['haɪgreɪd] высокооплачиваемый

highly ['haɪlɪ] высоко

high-tension [haɪ 'tenʃǝn] находящийся под напряжением

highway ['haɪweɪ] шоссе

hill [hɪl] холм

himself [hɪm'self] себя, себе, собой

hint [hɪnt] 1) намёк 2) намекать

hip [hɪp] бедро

historical [hɪ'stɒrɪkl] исторический

history ['hɪstǝrɪ] история

hit [hɪt] ударяться, ударять

hoarse [hɔ:rs] грубый

hoeing ['hǝʊɪŋ] прополка

hog [hɒg] хряк

hold [hǝʊld] держать, держаться

hole [hǝʊl] дыра

holiday ['hɒlɪdeɪ] праздник

holy ['hǝʊlɪ] священный

home [hǝʊm] дом

honestly ['ɒnɪstlɪ] честно

honey ['hʌnɪ] мед

honeying ['hʌniɪŋ] ублажать

hooked [hʊkt] кривой

hope [hǝʊp] 1) надеяться 2) надежда

hopeless ['hǝʊplǝs] безнадежный

hopelessly ['hǝʊplǝsli] безнадежно

hoping ['hǝʊpɪŋ] 1) надеящийся 2) Ving от hope

horizon [hǝ'raɪzǝn] горизонт

horizontally [,hɒrɪ'zɒntǝli] горизонтально

hormone [hɔ:rmǝʊn] 1) гормон 2) гормональный

horrible ['hɒrǝbl] ужасный

horribly ['hɒrǝblɪ] ужасно

horrified ['hɒrɪfaɪd] в ужасе

horror ['hɒrǝ] ужас

horse [hɔ:s] лошадь

hospital ['hɒspɪtǝl] больница

hostile ['hɔstaɪl] враждебный

hot [hɒt] горячий

hotel [hǝʊ'tel] гостиница

hour [aʊǝ] час

hourly ['aʊǝrli] ежечасно

house [haʊs] 1) дом 2) содержать

hover ['hɒvǝ] зависать

hovering ['hɒvǝrɪŋ] 1) зависший 2) Ving от hover

how [haʊ] как

however [haʊ'evǝ] однако

howl [haʊl] выть, стонать

huff [hʌf] фыркать

hug [hʌg] обнимать

huge [hju:ʤ] огромный

hug [hʌg] обнимать

hullo [hǝ'lǝʊ] привет

hum [hʌm] 1) напевать под нос 2) гул

human ['hju:mǝn] 1) человек 2) человеческий

humanity [hju:'mænǝti] человечество, человечность

humiliated [hju:'mɪlɪeɪtɪd] униженный

humiliation [hju:,mɪli'eɪʃn] унижение

humming ['hʌmɪŋ] 1) гудение, жужжание 2) Ving от hum

hundred ['hʌndrǝd] сто

hung [hʌŋ] прош. вр. от hang

hunger ['hʌŋgǝ] голод

hungrily ['hʌŋgrɪli] жадно

hunter ['hʌntǝ] охотник

hunting ['hʌntɪŋ] to go hunting идти на охоту

hunt-the-zipper [hʌnt ðǝ 'zɪpǝ],поймай молнию,

hurrah [hʊ'rɑ:] ура

hurry ['hʌrɪ] 1) спешка 2) спешить

hurrying ['hʌriɪŋ] 1) торопящий, спешащий 2) Ving от hurry

hurt [hæ:t] ранить; болеть

husband ['hʌzbǝnd] муж

hush [hʌʃ] 1) тишина 2) тихо!

hydrocyanic [,haɪdrǝʊsaɪ'ænɪk] синильный

hydro-electric ['haɪdrǝʊɪ'lektrɪk] гидро-электрический

hymn [hɪm] гимн

hypnopaedia ['hɪpnǝ'pi:dɪǝ] гипнопедия

hypnopaedic ['hɪpnǝ'pɪdɪk] гипнопедический

hypocritical [,hɪpǝ'krɪtɪkl] лицемерный

hypocritically [,hɪpǝ'krɪtɪkli] лицемерно

hysterical [hɪs'terɪkǝl] истерический

I [aɪ] я

iceberg ['aɪs,bæ:rg] айсберг

ice-cream ['aɪs'kri:m] мороженое

idea [aɪ'dɪǝ] идея

identical [aɪ'dentɪkǝl] идентичный

identically [aɪ'dentɪkǝli] идентично

identity [aɪ'dentɪti] личность

idiot ['ɪdɪǝt] идиот

idiotic [,ɪdi'ɒtɪk] идиотский

if [ɪf] если

ignore [ɪg'nɔ:] игнорировать

ill [ɪl] больной; злой

illicit [ɪ'lɪsɪt] незаконный

illness ['ɪlnǝs] болезнь

illusion [ɪ'lu:ʒǝn] иллюзия

illustrate ['ɪlǝstreɪt] иллюстрировать; описывать

image ['ɪmɪʤ] образ; изображение; статус

imaginary [ɪ'mæʤɪnǝri] воображаемый

imagine [ɪ'mæʤɪn] воображать

imbecile ['ɪmbǝsi:l] тупой

imitated ['ɪmɪteɪt] изображать, подражать

mitation [,ɪmɪ'teɪʃn] имитация

immeasurable [ɪ'meʒǝrǝbl] неизмеримый

immediate [ɪ'mi:dɪǝt] немедленный, незамедлительный, мгновенный

immediately [ɪ'mi:dɪǝtlɪ] немедленно

immense [ɪ'mens] обширный

immersed [ɪ'mæ:rst] погруженный

imminence ['ɪmɪnǝns] неотвратимость

immoral [ɪ'mɒrǝl] безнравственный, распущенный

immortal [ɪ'mɔ:rtl] бессмертный

immortality [ɪmɔ:r'ttlǝti] бессмертие

impact ['ɪmpækt] удар; воздействие

impatience [ɪm'peɪʃǝns] нетерпеливость

impatient [ɪm'peɪʃǝnt] нетерпеливый

impatiently [ɪm'peɪʃǝntli] нетерпеливо

impelled [ɪm'peld] вынужденный

impenetrable [ɪm'penɪtrǝbl] непроницаемый

importance [ɪm'pɔ:rtǝns] важность

important [ɪm'pɔ:tǝnt] важный

impose [ɪm'pǝʊz] навязывать

impossible [ɪm'pɒsǝbl] невозможный

impotent ['ɪmpǝtǝnt] беспомощный

impressive [ɪm'presɪv] впечатляющий

impressively [ɪm'presɪvli] впечатляюще

improve [ɪm'pru:v] улучшаться, улучшать

improvement [ɪm'pru:vmǝnt] улучшение

impudent ['ɪmpjʊdǝnt] бесстыдный, дерзкий

impulse ['ɪmpʌls] импульс, порыв

in [ɪn] в

inaudible [ɪn'ɔ:dǝbl] неразборчивый

incestuous [ɪn'sestjʊǝs] кровосмесительный

inch [ɪnʧ] 1) дюйм = 2,54 см 2) приближаться

inclination [,ɪŋklɪ'neɪʃn] склонность

incoherent [,ɪnkǝʊ'hɪǝrǝnt] несвязный

incoherently [,ɪnkǝʊ'hɪǝrǝntli] несвязно

incomparably [ɪn'kɒmpǝrǝbli] несравнимо

incompatible [,ɪnkǝm'pætǝbl] несовместимый

incomprehensible [ɪn,kɒmprɪ'hensǝbl]

непонятный, невоспринимаемый

incomprehensibly [ɪn,kɒmprɪ'hensǝbli]

incomprehension [ɪn,kɒmprɪ'henʃn] непонимание

inconceivable [,ɪnkǝn'si:vǝbl] невозможный

inconspicuously [,ɪnkǝn'spɪkjuǝsli] не привлекая внимания

inconvenience [,ɪnkǝn'vi:niǝns] неудобство

increase [ɪn'kri:s] увеличиваться

increasing [ɪn'kri:sɪŋ] усиливающийся

incredible [ɪn'kredǝbl] невероятный

incubator ['ɪŋkjʊ,beɪtǝ] инкубатор

indecent [ɪn'di:sǝnt] неприличный

indecision [,ɪndɪ'sɪʒn] нерешительность

indeed [ɪn'di:d] в самом деле

indefinitely [ɪn'defǝnǝtli] бесконечно

independence [,ɪndɪ'pendǝns] независимость

independent [,ɪndɪ'pendǝnt] независимый

ɪndian ['ɪndiǝn] индеец

indicate ['ɪndɪkeɪt] указывать

indignant [ɪn'dɪgnǝnt] возмущенный

indignantly [ɪn'dɪgnǝntli] возмущенно

indignation [,ɪndɪg'neɪʃn] возмущение

indisputable [,ɪndɪ'spju:tǝbl] неоспоримый

indistinguishable [,ɪndɪ'stɪŋgwɪ-ʃǝbl] неотличимый

individual [,ɪndɪ'vɪʤuǝl] индивидуальный

indoors [ɪn'dɔ:rz] внутрь

indulge [ɪn'dʌlʤ] потворничать

industrial [ɪn'dʌstriǝl] индустриальный

industry ['ɪndǝstri] индустрия

inefficiency [,ɪnɪ'fɪʃǝnsi]

неспособность, неэффективность

inefficient [,ɪnɪ'fɪʃǝnt] недостаточный, неспособный

inevitably [ɪn'evɪtǝbli] неотвратимо

infant ['ɪnfǝnt] младенец, ребенок

infantile ['ɪnfǝntaɪl] инфантильный

infantility [ɪnfǝn'tɪlǝti] инфантильность

infect [ɪn'fekt] заражать

infectious [ɪn'fekʃǝs] заразный

infiltration [,ɪnfɪl'treɪʃǝn] проникновение

infinitely ['ɪnfɪnǝtli] бесконечно

influence ['ɪnfluǝnts] влияние

inform [ɪn'fɔ:m] сообщать

information [,ɪnfǝ'meɪʃǝn] информация

ingenious [ɪn'ʤi:niǝs] изобретательный, остроумный

ingenuity [,ɪnʤǝ'nju:ǝti] изобретательность

inhabit [ɪn'hæbɪt] населять

inhabitant [ɪn'hæbɪtǝnt] житель

inherit [ɪn'herɪt] получать по наследству

initials [ɪ'nɪʃls] инициалы

inject [ɪn'ʤekt] вкалывать

injustice [ɪn'ʤʌstɪs] несправедливость

ink [ɪŋk] чернила

inner ['ɪnǝ] внутренний

innocence ['ɪnǝsǝns] невинность

innocent ['ɪnǝsǝnt] наивный, невинный

innumerable [ɪ'nju:mǝrǝbl] бесчисленный

inoculate [ɪ'nɒkjʊleɪt] прививать

inquisitive [ɪn'kwɪzǝtɪv] любознательный

insane [ɪn'seɪn] сумасшедший

insert [ɪn'sæ:rt] вводить

inside [,ɪn'saɪd] внутри

insignificant [,ɪnsɪg'nɪfɪkǝnt] несущественный

insist [ɪn'sɪst] настаивать

insisted [ɪn'sɪst] настаивать

inspected [ɪn'spekt] рассматривать, исследовать

inspection [ɪn'spekʃn] проверка

inspector [ɪn'spektǝ] инспектор

instability [,ɪnstǝ'bɪlǝti] неустойчивость

installed [ɪn'stɔ:ld] установленный

instance ['ɪntstǝnts] пример, случай

instant ['ɪnstǝnt] мгновение, миг

instantly ['ɪntstǝntlɪ] тотчас

instead [ɪn'sted] вместо

instruction [ɪn'strʌkʃn] инструкция

instrument ['ɪnstrʊmǝnt] инструмент

insulated ['ɪnsjʊleɪtɪd] теплоизолированный

insured [ɪn'ʃʊǝrd] обеспеченный

insurmountable [,ɪnsǝr'maʊntǝbl] неоспоримый

intact [ɪn'tækt] целый, нетронутый

intellectual [,ɪntǝ'lekʧuǝl] 1) мыслящий человек 2) интеллектуальный

intellectually [,ɪntǝ'lekʧuǝli] интеллектуально

intelligence [ɪn'telɪʤǝns] интеллект

intelligently [ɪn'telɪʤǝntli] разумно

intend [ɪn'tend] намереваться

intense [ɪn'tents] напряжённый

intensity [ɪn'tentsǝtɪ] интенсивность

intensive [ɪn'tensɪv] интенсивный

intent [ɪn'tent] намерение

intention [ɪn'tenʃǝn] намерение

intercept [,ɪntǝr'sept] перехватывать

interest ['ɪntǝrǝst] интерес

interested ['ɪntǝrǝstɪd] заинтересованный

interesting ['ɪntrǝstɪŋ] интересный

interfere [,ɪntǝ'fɪǝ] вмешиваться

interrupt [,ɪntǝ'rʌpt] прерывать

interrupted [,ɪntǝ'rʌptɪd] 1) прекращаемый 2) прош. вр. от interrupt

interruption [,ɪntǝ'rʌpʃǝn] заминка, задержка, вторжение

interval ['ɪntǝrvǝl] интервал

intimate ['ɪntɪ,meɪt] личный

into ['ɪntǝ] в, внутрь

intolerable [ɪn'tɒlǝrǝbǝl] невыносимый

intoxicant [ɪn'tɒksɪkǝnt] опьяняющее средство

intoxicated [ɪn'tɒksɪ,keɪtɪd] одурманенный

intoxication [ɪn,tɒksɪ'keɪʃǝn] опьянение

intravenally [,ɪntrǝ'vi:nǝli] внутривенно

intravenal [,ɪntrǝ'vi:nǝl] внутривенный укол

introduction [,ɪntrǝ'dʌkʃǝn] вступление

intruder [ɪn'tru:dǝ] незваный гость

intruding [ɪn'tru:dɪŋ] вторгающийся

invade [ɪn'veɪd] вторгаться

invent [ɪn'vent] изобретать

invention [ɪn'venʃǝn] изобретение

investigator [ɪn'vestɪ,geɪtǝ] следователь, исследователь

invisible [ɪn'vɪzǝbl] невидимый

invitation [,ɪnvɪ'teɪʃn] приглашение

invited [ɪn'vaɪtɪd] приглашенный

inviting [ɪn'vaɪtɪŋ] заманчивый, приглашающий

invitingly [ɪn'vaɪtɪŋli] заманчиво

involuntary [ɪn'vɒlǝntǝri] непроизвольный

inwardly ['ɪnwǝrdli] в душе, про себя

iodoacetate ['ʌɪǝdasɪteɪt] иодоацетат

iron ['aɪǝn] 1) железо 2) железный

ironical [aɪ'rɒnɪkl] ироничный

ironically [aɪ'rɒnɪkli] иронично

irregularly [ɪ'regjʊlǝli] нерегулярно

irritably ['ɪrɪtǝbli] раздраженно

irritation [,ɪrɪ'teɪʃn] раздражение

is [ɪz] 3 л. ед. наст. вр. от be

island ['aɪlǝnd] остров

isolated ['aɪsǝ,leɪtɪd] 1) изолированный 2) прош. вр. от isolate

isolating ['aɪsǝleɪtɪŋ] изолирующий

it [ɪt] это, оно

itself [ɪt'self] себя, себе

jacket ['ʤækɪt] куртка, пиджак

jack-in-the-box ['ʤækɪnðǝbɒks]

,черт из табакерки, (игрушка)

jealous ['ʤelǝs] завистливый, ревнующий

jealousy ['ʤelǝsi] зависть, ревность

jerk [ʤæ:k] дёрнуться, дёрнуть

Jesus ['ʤi:zǝs] Иисус

jewel ['ʤu:ǝl] драгоценный камень

jig [ʤɪg] прыгать, дергаться

job [ʤɒb] работа

jockey ['ʤɒki] жокейский

join [ʤɔɪn] присоединяться

joke [ʤǝʊk] шутка

jolly ['ʤɒli] веселый

jolt [ʤǝʊlt] толчок

journey ['ʤæ:ni] путешествие

joy [ʤɔɪ] радость

judge [ʤʌʤ] 1) судить 2) судья

judgment ['ʤʌʤmǝnt] решение

July [ʤʊ'laɪ] июль

jump [ʤʌmp] прыгать

juniper ['ʤu:nɪpǝ] можжевельник

just [ʤʌst] 1) точно, как раз 2) только

keen [ki:n] to be keen on smth быть заинтересованным в чем-то

keep [ki:p] 1) держать 2) продолжать

kept [kept] прош. вр., прич. прош. вр. от keep

khaki ['kɑ:ki] хаки

kick [kɪk] ударять ногой, пинать

kidnapping ['kɪdnæpɪŋ] похищение

kill [kɪl] убивать

kilo ['ki:lǝʊ] сокр. kilogramme

kilogramme ['kɪlǝ,græm] килограмм

kilometer ['kɪlǝ,mi:tǝ] километр

kind [kaɪnd] 1) вид, сорт 2) добрый

kindly ['kaɪndlɪ] любезно

king [kɪŋ] король

kingdom ['kɪŋdǝm] королевство

kiss [kɪs] 1) поцелуй 2) целовать

kitten ['kɪtn] котенок

knack [næk] способность

knee [ni:] колено

kneel [ni:l] становиться на колени

kneeling ['ni:lɪŋ] стоящий на коленях

knelt [nelt] прош. вр., прич. прош. вр. от kneel

knew [nju:] прош. вр. от know

knife [naɪf] нож

knob [nɒb] рукоятка

knock [nɒkt] стучать, выбивать

knot [nɒt] 1) узел 2) связывать

knotted ['nɒtɪd] завязанный, связанный

know [nǝʊ] знать

knowledge ['nɒlɪʤ] знание

known [nǝʊn] прич. прош. вр. от know

label ['leɪbl] помечать

labelled ['leɪbld] 1) отмеченный 2) прош. вр. и прич. прош. вр. от label

labeler ['leɪblǝ] этикетировщик

labeling ['leɪblɪŋ] маркировка

laboratory [lǝ'bɒrǝtǝri] лаборатория

labour ['leɪbǝ] 1) труд 2) трудиться

ladder ['lædǝ] лестница

lady ['leɪdɪ] леди

laid [leɪn] прош. вр. и прич. прош. вр. от lay

lake [leɪk] озеро

lamp [læmp] лампа

land [lænd] 1) земля 2) опускаться, приземляться

landing ['lændɪŋ] 1) посадка; площадка 2) Ving от land

landscape ['lænd,skeɪp] пейзаж, ландшафт

landworker [llnd'wæ:kǝ] работники сельскохозяйственного сектора

lane [leɪn] полоса на дороге

language ['læŋgwɪʤ] язык

lapse [læps] зацикливаться

large [lɑ:ʤ] большой

larger [lɑ:ʤǝ] сравн. ст. от large

last [lɑ:st] 1) последний 2) длиться

lasting ['lɑ:stɪŋ] 1) длительный 2) Ving от last

latch [læʧ] щеколда

late [leɪt] поздний, поздно

lately ['leɪtlɪ] недавно

later ['leɪtǝ] позже

latest ['leɪtɪst] превосх. ст. от late

laugh [lɑ:f] 1) смех 2) смеяться

laughing ['lɑ:fɪŋ] 1) смех 2) смеющийся 3) Ving от laugh

laughter ['lɑ:ftǝ] смех

laurel ['lɒrǝl] лавр

lavender ['lævǝndǝr] лаванда

law [lɔ:] закон

lawn [lɔ:n] лужайка, газон

lay [leɪ] положить

layer ['leɪǝ]

lay [leɪ] 1) класть 2) to lay out зд. укладывать, опрокидывать

lead [li:d] 1) вести; приводить 2) главный

lead [led] свинец

leader ['li:dǝ] лидер

leading ['li:dɪŋ] ведущий

lean [li:n] наклоняться, прислоняться

leant [lent] прош. вр. от lean

learn [læ:n] выучить, узнавать

least [li:st] 1) малейший 2) at least как минимум

leave [li:v] покидать, оставлять

lecherous ['leʧǝrǝs] развратный, блудливый

lechery ['leʧǝri] распутство

lecture ['lekʧǝ] нотация, поучение

lecturer ['lekʧǝrǝr] лектор

left [left] 1) левый 2) прош. вр., прич. прош. вр. от leave

leg [leg] нога

length [leŋθ] длина

lengthening ['leŋθǝn] удлиннять

less [les] меньше

lesson ['lesn] урок

let [let] позволять

letter ['letǝ] письмо

level ['levǝl] 1) уровень 2) сравнять

lever ['li:vǝr] рычаг

liberalism ['lɪbǝrǝ,lɪzm] либерализм

liberty ['lɪbǝrti] свобода

library ['laɪbrǝrɪ] библиотека

lid [lɪd] крышка

lie [laɪ] 1) лежать; врать 2) ложь

life [laɪf] жизнь

lifeless ['laɪflǝs] безжизненный

lifetime ['laɪftaɪm] продолжительность жизни

lift [lɪft] поднимать

lift-hatch [lɪft 'hhʧ] крышка

lifting ['lɪftɪŋ] 1) подъем 2) Ving от lift

light [laɪt] 1) свет; огонь 2) зажигать; освещать 3) лёгкий

lighted ['laɪtɪd] освещенный

lighthouse ['laɪt,haʊs] маяк

lighting-set ['laɪtɪŋ set] система освещения

like [laɪk] 1) нравиться 2) как

likely ['laɪklɪ] вероятно

lily ['lɪli] лилия

limb [lɪm] конечность

limit ['lɪmɪt] 1) предел 2) ограничивать

limp [lɪmp] мягкий

line [laɪn] 1) линия 2) строчка

linger ['lɪŋgǝ] останавливаться, оставаться

lining ['laɪnɪŋ] отделка, изнанка

link [lɪŋk] 1) связь 2) связывать

linked [lɪnkt] связанный

lion ['laɪǝn] лев

lip [lɪp] губа

liquid ['lɪkwɪd] 1) жидкость 2) жидкий

liquor ['lɪkǝ] субстанция; алкоголь

list [lɪst] перечислять

listen ['lɪsǝn] слушать

listener ['lɪsǝnǝr] слушатель

listening ['lɪsnɪŋ] 1) подслушивание 2) Ving от listen

lit [lɪt] прош. вр., прич. прош. вр. от light

littered ['lɪtǝd] захламленный

little ['lɪtl] 1) маленький 2) a little немного

live [lɪv] жить

living ['lɪvɪŋ] 1) живой 2) Ving от live

lizard ['lɪzǝrd] ящер, ящерица

load [lǝʊd] 1) груз 2) нагружать

loaded ['lǝʊdɪd] 1) богатый 2) прош. вр. и прич. прош. вр. от load

loathe [lǝʊð] ненавидеть

loathsome ['lǝʊðsǝm] отвратительный

locked [lɒkt] 1) запертый 2) прош. вр. от lock

locker ['lɒkǝ] шкафчик

lock-up ['lɒkʌp] камера

locust ['lǝʊkǝst] саранча

lonely ['lǝʊnlɪ] одинокий

long [lɒŋ] 1) долго, задолго 2) long ago давно 3) as long as пока, если

long-drawn ['lɒŋdrɔ:n] затянувшийся

longer ['lɒŋgǝ] сравн. ст. от long

longest ['lɔŋgǝst] превосх. ст. от long

long-headed ['lɒŋ'hedɪd] с вытянутой головой

look [luk] 1) смотреть; выглядеть 2) взгляд; вид

loose [lu:s] 1) большой заговор 2) слабый 3) спускать

loosen [lu:sǝn] ослабить

lose [lu:z] терять

loss [lɒs] потеря

lost [lɒst] 1) потерянный 2) прош. вр., прич. прош. вр. от lose

lot [lɒt] 1) a lot of, lots of много 2) lot, a lot намного, сильно

loud [laʊd] громкий

louder ['laʊdǝr] срав. ст. от loud

loudest ['laʊdɪst] превосх. ст. от loud

loudly ['laʊdlɪ] громко

lounging ['laʊnʤɪŋ] прохлаждающийся

lousy ['laʊzi] паршивый

love [lʌv] 1) любовь 2) любить

loveliness ['lʌvlɪnǝs] очарование, чудесность

lovely ['lʌvlɪ] красивый

lover ['lʌvǝ] любовник, любовница

loving ['lʌvɪŋ] 1) любящий 2) Ving от love

low [lǝʊ] 1) низкий; тихий 2) понижать, опускать

lower ['lǝʊǝ] опускать

lower-caste ['lǝʊǝ kɑ:st] принадлежащий к низшей касте

lowest ['lǝʊɪst] превосх. ст. от low

low-grade ['lǝʊ'greɪd] третьесортный

luck [lʌk] удача

luckily ['lʌkɪli] к счастью

lucky ['lʌkɪ] удачливый

lull [lʌl] успокаивать

lump [lʌmp] кусок

lunar ['lu:nǝ] зд. межзвездный

lunatic ['lunǝ,tɪk] сумасшедший

lunch [lʌnʧ] обед

lung [lʌŋ] лёгкое

lupus ['lu:pǝs] волчанка

luscious ['lʌʃǝs] сочный, потрясающий

luxurious [lʌg'zjʊǝriǝs] дорогой

lying ['laɪɪŋ] 1) лживый 2) Ving от lie

machine [mǝ'ʃi:n] машина

machinery [mǝ'ʃi:nǝri] механизм; оборудование

mad [mæd] сумасшедший

made [meɪd] прош. вр., прич. прош. вр. от make

madman ['mæd,mæn] сумасшедший

madness ['mædnǝs] безумство

magic ['mæʤɪk] магия

magically ['mæʤɪkli] магически

magnesium [mæg'ni:ziǝm] магниевый

magnetic [mæg'netɪk] 1) притягательный 2) electro-magnetic электромагнитный

main [meɪn] основной

majestically [mǝ'ʤestɪkli] величественно, величаво

major ['meɪʤǝ] главный

make [meɪk] делать; заставлять

male [meɪl] мужской

Malpais [malpɑ:'i:s] Мальпаис

Malthusian [mal'θju:zɪǝn] мальтузианский

mammary ['mæmǝri] mammary gland молочная железа

man [mæn] человек, мужчина

manage ['mænɪʤ] управлять; справляться

manager ['mænɪʤǝr] менеджер

manhood ['mænhʊd] мужественность

mania ['meɪniǝ] мания

maniacal [mǝ'naɪǝkǝl] маниакальный

maniacally [mǝ'naɪǝkǝli] маниакально

manifest ['mænɪfest] заявлять о себе

manipulate [mǝ'nɪpjʊleɪt] управлять

mankind [mæn'kaɪnd] человечество

manufactured [,mænjʊ'fækʧǝrd] изготовленный; штампованый

many ['menɪ] многие, много

march [mɑ:rʧ] маршировать

margin ['mɑ:rʤɪn] граница; резерв

marine [mǝ'ri:n] морской

mark [mɑ:k] 1) метка, отметка, след 2) отмечать

marked [mɑ:kd] 1) отмеченный 2) прош. вр. от mark

market ['mɑrkǝt] рынок

marriage ['mærɪʤ] брак

married ['mærɪd] 1) женатый, замужняя 2) to get married жениться, выходить замуж

marry ['mæri] жениться/выходить замуж

mask [mɑ:sk] 1) скрывать 2) маска

masked [mɑ:skt] одетый в маску

masonry ['meɪsǝnri] кирпичи; кирпичная кладка

masses ['mæsɪz] толпа; народ

massacre ['mæsǝkǝr] бойня

massage ['mæsɑ:ʒ] массаж

massive ['mæsɪv] массивный

master ['mæstǝr] мастер

masterly ['mɑ:stǝrli] мастерский

match [mæʧ] 1) соответствие 2) соответствовать

mathematical [,mæθǝ'mætɪkl] математический

matter ['mætǝ] 1) дело, вопрос 2) иметь значение

mature [mǝ'ʧʊǝr] зрелый

maturity [mǝ'ʧʊǝrǝti] зрелость

may [meɪ] 1) может 2) возможно

me [mi:] мне, меня, мной

meal [mi:l] приём пищи, еда

mean [mi:n] 1) иметь в виду; означать 2) злой

meaning ['mi:nɪŋ] 1) значение 2) Ving от mean

meant [ment] прош. вр. и прич. прош. вр. от mean

meanwhile ['mi:n'waɪl] тем временем

meat [mit] мясо

mechanic [mɪ'kænɪk] механический

mechanically [mɪ'kænɪkli] механически

mechanism ['mekǝ,nɪzm] механизм

medical ['medɪkǝl] медицинский

medicine ['medɪsɪn] медицина

meet [mi:t] встречать, встречаться

meeting ['mi:tɪŋ] 1) встреча 2) meeting-place место встречи

melancholy ['melǝn,kɒli] меланхолия

melody ['melǝdi] мелодия

melt [melt] таять

melted [melt] размякший

member ['membǝ] участник

membership ['membǝʃɪp] членство

memory ['memǝrɪ] память, воспоминание

men [men] мн. ч. от man

menace ['menǝs] угроза

menacing ['menǝsɪŋ] угрожающий

menacingly ['menǝsɪŋli] угрожающе

mend [mend] чинить

menial ['mi:niǝl] чернорабочий

mental ['mentl] мысленный

mention ['menʃǝn] упоминать

merchant ['mæ:rʧǝnt] торговец

mere [mɪr] всего лишь

merely ['mɪǝlɪ] только

mesa ['meɪsǝ] столовая гора, плоскогорье

mescal ['meskǝl] мескалин (наркотик)

message ['mesɪʤ] сообщение

met [met] прош. вр., прич. прош. вр. от meet

metal ['metǝl] 1) металл 2) металлический

meteorologist [,mi:tiǝ'rɒlǝʤɪst] метеоролог

methodically [mɪ'θɒdɪkǝli] методично

method ['meθǝd] метод

metre ['mi:tǝ] метр

metropolis [mɪ'trɒpǝlɪs] крупный город

mice [maɪs] мыши

microphone ['maɪkrǝ,fǝʊn] микрофон

middle ['mɪdl] 1) середина 2) средний

midnight ['mɪdnaɪt] полночь

midst [mɪdst] in the midst of smth в центре

might [maɪt] прош. вр. от may

mild [maɪld] мягкий, тихий

milk [mɪlk]1) 1) молоко 2) доить

million ['mɪljǝn] миллион

mime [maɪm] показывать жестами

mind [maɪnd] 1) голова, разум, мысли 2) возражать

mine [maɪn] мой, моя, моё, мои

minute ['mɪnɪt] минута

mirror ['mɪrǝ] 1) зеркало 2) отражаться; повторять

miserable ['mɪzǝrǝbl] жалкий

miserably ['mɪzǝrǝbli] жалко

misery ['mɪzǝrɪ] страдание

miss [mɪs] 1) пропускать 2) мисс

missing ['mɪsɪŋ] пропавший

mistake [mɪ'steɪk] ошибка

mistaken [mɪ'steɪkǝn] ошибочный

mistress ['mɪstrǝs] любовница

mob [mɒb] толпа

mock [mɒk] насмехаться

modern ['mɒdǝn] современный

modestly ['mɒdɪstli] скромно

modesty ['mɒdɪsti] скромность, благоразумность

moist [mɔɪst] влажный

moisten ['mɔɪsǝn] вымачивать

moment ['mǝʊmǝnt] миг

momentarily ['mǝʊmǝntǝrǝli] моментально

Monday ['mʌndeɪ] понедельник

money ['mʌni] деньги

monitor ['mɒnɪtǝr] зд. наблюдатель

monogamy [mǝ'nɒgǝmi] моногамия

monorail ['mɒnǝʊ,reɪl] монорельсовый

monster ['mɒntstǝ] чудовище

monstrous ['mɒntstrǝs] чудовищный

month [mʌnθ] месяц

monument ['mɒnjʊmǝnt] монумент

mood [mu:d] настроение

moon [mu:n] луна

moon-faced [mu:n feɪst] с круглым лицом

moonless ['mu:nlǝs] безлунный

moonlight ['mu:n,laɪt] лунный свет

moral ['mɒrǝl] моральный

more [mɔ:] 1) более 2) сравн. ст. от much, many

moreover [mɔ:r'ǝʊvǝr] кроме того

morning ['mɔ:nɪŋ] утро

morocco-surrogate [mǝ'rɒkǝʊ 'sʌrǝgɪt] сделаный из искусственного сафьяна

morphia ['mɔ:fiǝ] морфий

morsel ['mɔ:rsǝl] кусочек

morula ['mɔrulǝ] морула (стадия развития зародыша)

mosaic [mǝʊ'zeɪɪk] мозаика

mosquito [mɒ'ski:tǝʊ] комар

most [mǝʊst] 1) самый 2) большинство

moth [mɒθ] моль

mother ['mʌðǝ] мать

motion ['mǝʊʃǝn] 1) движение 2) махать

motor ['mǝʊtǝ] мотор

motto ['mɒtǝʊ] девиз

mountain ['maʊntɪn] гора

mounted ['maʊntɪd] закрепленный

mournful ['mɔ:rnfǝl] печальный, скорбный

mouth [maʊθ] 1) рот 2) прошептать

move [mu:v] двигаться, двигать

movement ['mu:vmǝnt] движение

moving ['mu:vɪŋ] 1) движущийся 2) Ving от move

mow [mǝʊ] to mow sbd down убивать кого-либо

much [mʌʧ] много

mucus ['mju:kǝs] слизь

muffled ['mʌfld] приглушенный; неразборчивый

mule [mju:l] мул

multitude ['mʌltɪ,tju:d] множество

mumble ['mʌmbl] бормотать

murder ['mæ:dǝ] 1) убийство 2) убивать

murderous ['mæ:dǝrǝs] убийственный

murmur ['mæ:mǝ] 1) бормотание 2) бормотать

muscle ['mʌsl] мускул, мышца

museum [mju:'zi:ǝm] музей

mushroom ['mʌʃru:m] гриб

music ['mju:zɪk] музыка

musical ['mju:zɪkǝl] музыкальный

musk [mʌsk] мускусный запах

must [mʌst] должен, должно быть, наверняка

mustard ['mʌstǝd] горчица

mutation [mju:'teɪʃn] мутация

mutter ['mʌtǝ] бормотать

muzzled ['mʌzld] одетый в намордник

my [maɪ] мой, моя, моё

myrtle ['mæ:rtl] мирт

myself [maɪ'self] себя, сам, сама

mysterious [mɪ'stɪǝrɪǝs] таинственный

mystery ['mɪstǝrɪ] тайна

mythology [mɪ'θɒlǝʤi] мифология

nail [neɪl] 1) гвоздь 2) прибить

nailed [neɪld] приколоченный

naked ['neɪkɪd] голый

name [neɪm] 1) имя 2) называть

narcotic [nɑ:r'kɒtɪk] наркотический, усыпляющий

narrow ['nærǝʊ] 1) узкий 2) сужаться

nasty ['nɑ:stɪ] отвратительный; скверный

natural ['næʧǝrǝl] естественный

nature ['neɪʧǝr] природа

nausea ['nɔ:ziǝ] тошнота

navel ['neɪvǝl] пупок

nay [neɪ] устар. no

near [nɪǝ] 1) около; почти 2) приближаться

nearer ['nɪǝrǝ] срав. ст. от near

nearest ['nɪǝrɪst] превосх. ст. от near

nearly ['nɪǝlɪ] почти

necessary ['nesǝsǝri] необходимый

neck [nek] 1) шея 2) обниматься

necklace ['neklǝs] ожерелье

need [ni:d] 1) необходимость 2) нуждаться

needle ['ni:dl] игла

negative ['negǝtɪv] негативный

neglect [nɪ'glekt] пренебрегать

negro ['ni:grǝʊ] руг. негр

neighborhood ['neɪbǝr,hʊd] район; город

neighboring ['neɪbǝrɪŋ] соседний

neither ['naɪðǝ] 1) никакой 2) ни, ни этот

neo-Pavlovian ['ni:ǝʊ ppv'lǝʊvɪǝn] нео-павловский

nerve [næ:v] нерв

nervous ['næ:vǝs] нервный

nervously ['næ:vǝslɪ] нервно

never ['nevǝ] никогда

nevertheless [,nevǝðǝ'les] тем не менее

new [nju:] новый

newly ['nju:lɪ] недавно

news [nju:z] новости

newspaper ['nju:z,peɪpǝ] газета

next [nekst] следующий

nibble ['nɪbl] жевать

nice [naɪs] хороший, приятный, милый

night [naɪt] ночь

night-flying ['naɪt,flaɪɪŋ] летающий ночью

nine [naɪn] девять

nineteen [,naɪn'ti:n] девятнадцать

ninety-eight ['naɪnti eɪt] девяносто восемь

ninety-six ['naɪnti sɪks] девяносто шесть

no [nǝʊ] нет

nobility [nǝʊ'bɪlǝti] благородство

noble ['nǝʊbl] благородный

nobody ['nǝʊbǝdɪ] никто

nod [nɒd] кивнуть головой

noise [nɔɪz] шум

noiseless ['nɔɪzlǝs] бесшумный

none [nʌn] ни один из, ничего

nonsense ['nɒnsǝns] чепуха

nor [nɔ:] также не, тоже не; neither… nor… ни…, ни…; не…, не…

normal ['nɔ:rmǝl] нормальный

normality [nɔ:r'mælǝti] нормальность, обычность

normally ['nɔ:rmǝli] обычно

north [nɔ:θ] север

north-east [nɔ:θ i:st] северо-восток

nose [nǝʊz] нос

not [nɒt] не, нет, ни

note [nǝʊt] 1) нотка; заметка, записка 2) записывать; отмечать

notebook ['nǝʊtbʊk] записная книжка

nothing ['nʌθɪŋ] ничего, ничто

notice ['nǝʊtɪs] замечать

notion ['nǝʊʃn] убеждение

notoriously [nǝʊ'tɔ:rɪǝsli] общеизвестный

nourish ['nʌrɪʃ] питать

nourishing ['nʌrɪʃɪŋ] 1) питательный 2) V-ing от nourish

novel ['nɒvǝl] роман

now [naʊ] сейчас

nowadays ['naʊǝ,deɪz] сегодня

nudging ['nʌʤɪŋ] пихание

number ['nʌmbǝ] номер; ряд

numbered ['nʌmbǝd] пронумерованный

numerous ['nju: mǝrǝs] многочисленный

nurse [næ:rs] медсестра

nursery ['nn: sǝri] детская

nut [nʌt] гайка

o'clock [ǝ'klɒk] обозначение времени

oak [ǝʊk] дуб

obedient [ǝ'bi: diǝnt] послушный, покорный

obediently [ǝ'bi: diǝntli] покорно

obey [ǝ'beɪ] подчиняться

object ['ɒbʤɪkt] предмет

object [ǝb'ʤekt] возражать

objection [ǝb'ʤekʃn] возражение

objective [ǝb'ʤektɪv] цель

obscenity [ǝb'senǝti] непристойность

obsidian [ɒb'sɪdɪǝn] обсидиан

obstacle ['ɒbstǝkl] препятствие

obvious ['ɒbvɪǝs] очевидный

obviously ['ɒbvɪǝslɪ] очевидно

occasion [ǝ'keɪʒǝn] случай

occasionally [ǝ'keɪʒǝnǝlɪ] иногда

occupied ['ɒkjʊpaɪd] занятый

occur [ǝ'kæ:] случаться; приходить в голову

octoroon [,ɒktǝ'ru:n] руг. метис

odd [ɒd] странный

of [ǝv] указывает на отношение принадлежности; из, от

off [ɒf] указывает на отдаление и дистанцию; от, с, из, прочь

offence [ǝ'fens] нарушение

offended [ǝ'fendɪd] to be offended оскорбляться

offensively [ǝ'fensɪvli] агрессивно

offer ['ɒfǝ] 1) предлагать 2) предложение

office ['ɒfɪs] офис

officially [ǝ'fɪʃǝli] официально

often ['ɒftǝn] часто

oh [ǝʊ] о!

old [ǝʊld] старый

older ['ǝʊldǝ] срав. ст. от old

on [ɒn] на, в

once [wʌnts] однажды

one [wʌn] один

one-ninth [wʌn naɪnθ] одна девятая

oneself [wʌn'self] себя

only ['ǝʊnlɪ] только

onto ['ɒntu:] на; в

onward ['ɒnwǝd] вперед, впереди

ooze [u:z] сочиться

open ['ǝʊpǝn] 1) открытый 2) открываться

opening ['ǝʊpǝnɪŋ] 1) возможность 2) Ving от open

open-mouthed ['ǝʊpǝn maʊðd] с открытым ртом

opinion [ǝ'pɪnjǝn] взгляд

opportunity [,ɒpǝ'tju:nǝtɪ] возможность

opposite ['ɒpǝzɪt] противоположный

optimum ['ɒptɪmǝm] оптимальный

or [ɔ:] или

orange ['ɒrɪnʤ] оранжевый

orchard ['ɔ:rʧǝrd] сад

order ['ɔ:dǝ] 1) порядок 2) заказывать

ordered ['ɔ:rdǝrd] 1) приказной 2) прош. вр. от. order

ordinary ['ɔ:dǝnǝrɪ] обычный

organ ['ɔ:gǝn] орган

organize ['ɔ:rgǝnaɪz] организовывать

organized ['ɔ:rgǝnaɪzd] организованный

orgy ['ɔ:rʤi] оргия

orthodox ['ɔ:rθǝdɒks] традиционный; общепринятый

other ['ʌðǝ] другой

otherwise ['ʌðǝwaɪz] иначе

ought [ɔ:t] должный

our ['aʊǝ] наш

ourselves [aʊǝr'selvz] самих себя

out [aʊt] вне, из

outcry ['aʊt,kraɪ] протест

outer ['aʊtǝ] внешний

outlet ['aʊt,let] выход; русло

outrage ['aʊt,reɪʤ] гнев

outside [,aʊt'saɪd] внешний, снаружи

outskirts ['aʊt,skæ:rts] окраины

outstanding [aʊt'stændɪŋ] невероятный

outstretched [,aʊt'streʧt] протянутый

ova ['ǝʊvǝ] яйцо

ovary ['ǝʊvǝri] яичник

over ['ǝʊvǝ] 1) над; на, по 2) более; сверх 3) законченый

overalls ['ǝʊvǝrɔ:ls] комбинезон

over-compensation ['ǝʊvǝ “kɒmpen'seɪʃǝnz] перекомпенсация

overhanging [,ǝʊvǝ'hæŋɪŋ] нависший

overhead [,ǝʊvǝ'hed] наверху

overhear [,ǝʊvǝr'hɪǝ] слышать краем уха

over-inhabited ['ǝʊvǝr ɪn'hhbɪtɪd] перенаселенный

override [,ǝʊvǝ'raɪd] пересиливать

oversee [,ǝʊvǝr'si:] следить

oversight ['ǝʊvǝr,saɪt] недосмотр

overwhelm [,ǝʊvǝ'welm] перегружать

overwhelming [,ǝʊvǝr'welmɪŋ] подавляющий, непреодолимый

own [ǝʊn] 1) свой, собственный 2) владеть

oxygen ['ɒksɪʤǝn] кислород

pace [peɪs] шаг

Pacific [pǝ'sɪfɪk] тихоатлантический

pacify ['pæsɪfaɪ] успокаивать

pacing ['peɪsɪŋ] ходить взад-вперед

packed [pækt] 1) заполненный 2) прош. вр. и прич. прош. вр. от pack

packet ['ppkɪt] пакет, упаковка

page [peɪʤ] 1) лист, страница 2) листать

paid [peɪd] прош. вр., прич. прош. вр. от pay

pain [peɪn] боль

pained [peɪnd] огорченный

painful ['peɪnfǝl] болезненный

paint [peɪnt] 1) краска 2) красить

painted [peɪntɪd] 1) покрашенный 2) прош. вр. от paint

pair [peǝ] пара

palace ['pælǝs] дом

pale [peɪl] бледный

palm [pɑ:m] ладонь

pamper ['pæmpǝr] баловать

panic ['pænɪk] паника

pan [pæn] сковорода

paper ['peɪpǝ] 1) бумага; газета 2) бумажный

paradisal [pærǝ'daisl] райский

parallel ['pærǝlel] параллельный

paralyzed ['pærǝlaɪzd] парализованный

pardon ['pɑ:dǝn] миловать

parent ['peǝrǝnt] родитель

park [pɑ:k] 1) парк 2) припарковывать

park-land [pɑ:k lknd] зеленая зона

Parliament ['pɑ:rlǝmǝnt] парламент

parody ['pærǝdi] пародия

part [pɑ:rt] часть

parted [pɑ:rt] приоткрытый

partial ['pɑ:rʃǝl] частичный

particular [pǝ'tɪkjǝlǝ] особенный

particularly [pǝ'tɪkjǝlǝlɪ] особенно

partly ['pɑ:tlɪ] частично

party ['pɑ:tɪ] вечеринка, вечер

pass [pɑ:s] проходить мимо; передавать; проводить (о законе)

passage ['pæsɪʤ] проход

passenger ['pæsɪnʤǝ] 1) пассажир 2) passenger side пассажирское сиденье

passing ['pɑ:sɪŋ] 1) проезжающий, пролетающий 2) Ving от pass

passion ['pæʃn] страсть

past [pɑ:st] 1) мимо 2) за

patchouli ['pæʧʊli] пачули

path [pɑ:θ] путь

patience ['peɪʃǝns] терпение

patient ['peɪʃǝnt] пациент

patiently ['peɪʃǝntlɪ] терпеливо

pat [pæt] похлопывать

pause [pɔ:z] 1) пауза 2) делать паузу, останавливаться

pay [peɪ] платить

peace [pi:s] мир

peak [pi:k] острый конец

peanut ['pi:,nʌt] арахис

pearl [pæ:rl] жемчужина

peculiar [pɪ'kju:lɪǝ] своеобразный

peculiarity [pɪ,kju:li'ærǝti] особенность

peep [pi:p] подсматривать

peer [pɪǝr] смотреть

pelvis ['pelvɪs] таз

pen [pen] ручка

penitentes [,penɪ'tentes] кальгаспоры (снежный налет)

people ['pi:pl] люди

per [pæ:] в, за

perfect ['pæ:fɪkt] идеальный

perfectly ['pæ:fɪktlɪ] идеально

perform [pǝ'fɔ:m] исполнять, выполнять, делать

performance [pǝr'fɔ:mǝns]

представление; производительность

perfume ['pæ:fju:m] духи

perfumed [pǝ'fju:md] надушенный

perhaps [pǝ'hæps] может быть

period ['pɪǝrɪǝd] период

peritoneal [perɪtǝʊ'ni:ǝl] брюшинный

peritoneum [,perɪtǝʊ'ni:ǝm] брюшина

permanently ['pæ:rmǝnǝntli] постоянно

permission [pǝ'mɪʃǝn] разрешение

permit [pǝr'mɪt] 1) разрешение 2) разрешать

perpendicularly [,pæ:pǝn'dɪkjʊlǝli]

перпендикулярно

persecution [,pæ:rsɪ'kju:ʃn] наказание

persist [pǝr'sɪst] настаивать

person ['pæ:sǝn] человек, личность

personal ['pæ:sǝnǝl] персональный, личный

personally ['pæ:sǝnǝlɪ] лично

persuade [pǝ'sweɪd] убеждать

petal ['petǝl] лепесток

petition [pǝ'tɪʃn] подавать петицию

petrified ['petrɪfaɪd] застывший от ужаса

pharmacologist ['fɑ:mǝ'kɒlǝʤɪst] фармаколог

phial ['faɪǝl] склянка

philosopher [fɪ'lɒsǝfǝr] философ

philosophy [fɪ'lɒsǝfi] философия

photograph ['fǝʊtǝgrɑ:f] 1) фотография 2) снимать

photographer [fǝ'tɒgrǝfǝ] фотограф

phrase [freɪz] фраза

physical ['fɪzɪkǝl] физический

physically ['fɪzɪkli] физически

physicist ['fɪzɪsɪst] физик

physiological [,fɪziǝ'lɒʤɪkl] физиологический

physique [fɪ'zi:k] форма

pick [pɪk] поднимать; выбирать

picnic ['pɪknɪk] пикник

picture ['pɪkʧǝ] 1) картина 2) представлять себе

piece [pi:s] кусок

pierce [pɪǝrs] поражать

pierced [pɪǝrst] 1) пораженный 2) прош. вр. от pierce

piercing ['pɪǝrsɪŋ] проникающий внутрь

piercingly ['pɪǝrsɪŋli] проникающе

pile [paɪl] 1) стопка 2) лежать, складывать стопкой

pillbox ['pɪl,bɒks] коробка для таблеток

pillow ['pɪlǝʊ] подушка

pilot ['paɪlǝt] пилот

pinch [pɪnʧ] зажимать

pink [pɪŋk] розовый

pinkness ['pɪŋknǝs] розоватость

pistol [pɪstl] пистолет

pit [pɪt] яма

pity ['pɪtɪ] жалость

place [pleɪs] 1) место 2) помещать

plague [pleɪg] донимать

plain [pleɪn] простой

plan [plæn] 1) план 2) планировать

plane [pleɪn] самолет

planet ['plænɪt] планета

plant [plɑ:nt] 1) растение 2) сажать; высаживать; садиться

platform ['plætfɔ:m] платформа, площадка

platitude ['plætɪtju:d] банальщина

play [pleɪ] играть

playtime ['pleɪ,taɪm] время игры

plead [pli:d] умолять

pleasant ['plezǝnt] приятный

pleasantly ['plezǝntli] приятно

please [pli:z] 1) пожалуйста 2) радовать, угождать

pleased [pli:zd] довольный

pleasure ['pleʒǝ] удовольствие

plenty ['plentɪ] много

plot [plɒt] сюжет

plug [plʌg] подключать

plump [plʌmp] пышный

plunged [plʌnʤd] погруженный

plus [plʌs] плюс, дополнительно

pneumatic [nju:'mætɪk] пневматический

pocket ['pɒkɪt] карман

poetry ['pǝʊɪtri] поэзия

point [pɔɪnt] 1) момент; точка 2) указывать

pointedly ['pɔɪntɪdli] явно, демонстративно

poison ['pɔɪzǝn] 1) яд 2) травить

pole [pǝʊl] полис

police [pǝ'li:s] полиция

policeman [pǝ'li:smǝn] полицейский

policy ['pɒlǝsɪ] политика

Polish ['pɒlɪʃ] 1) польский 2) Polish-speaking говорящий по-польски 3) полировать

polished ['pɒlɪʃt] 1) отполированный 2) прош. вр. от polish

polite [pǝ'laɪt] вежливый

politely [pǝ'laɪtli] вежливо

politeness [pǝ'laɪtnɪs] вежливость

political [pǝ'lɪtɪkl] политический

pond [pɒnd] пруд

pool [pu:l] бассейн

poor [pʊǝ] бедный

poorly ['pʊǝlɪ] плохо

pop [pɒp] выскакивать; появляться; взрываться

Pope [pǝʊp] Папа Римский

popular ['pɒpjǝlǝ] популярный

populate ['pɒpjʊleɪt] зд. наполнять

population [,pɒpjʊ'leɪʃn] население

porcupine ['pɔ:rkjʊpaɪn] дикобраз

porous ['pɔ:rǝs] пористый

portable ['pɔ:rtǝbl] переносной

porter ['pɔ:rtǝbl] швейцар

porthole ['pɔ:rt,hǝʊl] иллюминатор

portion ['pɔ:rʃn] порция

position [pǝ'zɪʃǝn] положение

possess [pǝ'zes] обладать

possibility [,pɒsǝ'bɪlǝtɪ] вероятность

possible ['pɒsǝbl] вероятный

possibly ['pɒsǝblɪ] возможно

post [pǝʊst] 1) после 2) столб

posterior [pɒ'stɪǝriǝr] зад

postulate ['pɒstjʊleɪt] предполагать

posture ['pɒsʧǝr] осанка

pot [pɒt] кастрюля

poultry ['pɒsʧǝr] дичь, птица

pour [pɔ:] литься, лить

poverty ['pɒvǝrti] бедность

powder ['paʊdǝ] 1) пыль 2) сыпать

power ['paʊǝ] сила

powerful ['paʊǝfǝl] мощный

powerfully ['paʊǝfǝli] мощно

practical ['præktɪkǝl] практичный

practically ['præktɪkǝlɪ] практически

practice ['præktɪs] 1) тренировка 2) тренироваться

praise [preɪz] славить

pray [preɪ] молиться

prayer [preǝ] молитва

precaution [prɪ'kɔ:ʃn] приготовление, предосторожность

precious ['preʃǝs] драгоценный, дорогой

precipice ['presǝpɪs] обрыв

precipitous [prɪ'sɪpɪtǝs] обрывистый, крутой

precise [prɪ'saɪs] точный

precisely [prɪ'saɪsli] точно

predestination [pri:,destɪ'neɪʃn] судьба, удел

predestinator [pri:,destɪ'neɪtǝ] определитель

predestine [pri:'destɪn] предопределять

predestined [pri:'destɪnd] предопределенный

prediction [prɪ'dɪkʃn] предсказатель

prefer [prɪ'fæ:] предпочитать

preference ['prefǝrǝns] предпочтение

pregnancy ['pregnǝnsi] беременность

prejudice ['preʤʊdɪs]

предубеждение, предрассудок

prematurely [,premǝ'tjʊǝli] преждевременно

premodern [pri:'mɒdǝn] древний

premonition [,premǝ'nɪʃn] предвестие

prepared [prɪ'peǝrd] готовый

presence ['prezǝnts] присутствие

present ['prezǝnt] 1) присутствующий; подарок 2) представлять

preserve [prɪ'zæ:rv] сохранять

preserving [prɪ'zæ:vɪŋ] сохранение

president ['prezɪdǝnt] президент

press [pres] 1) пресса 2) прижимать, оттеснять

pressure ['preʃǝr] давление

pretence [prɪ'tens] притворство; отговорка

pretty ['prɪtɪ] 1) милый, красивый 2) довольно

prevent [prɪ'vent] предотвращать

previous ['pri:vɪǝs] предыдущий

price [praɪs] цена

prick [prɪk] 1) колоть 2) to prick one's ears прислушиваться

pride [praɪd] гордость

priest [pri:st] священник

primal ['praɪmǝl] первобытный

primrose ['prɪmrǝʊz] энотера (растение)

principal ['prɪnsǝpl] 1) директор 2) главный

principle ['prɪntsǝpǝl] принцип

print [prɪnt] 1) отпечаток 2) печатать

printed [prɪntɪd] 1) прош. вр. от print 2) напечатанный

prison ['prɪzǝn] тюрьма

prisoner ['prɪzǝnǝ] заключённый

private ['praɪvǝt] частный

privilege ['prɪvǝlɪʤ] привилегия

probably ['prɒbǝblɪ] вероятно

probe [prǝʊb] ощупывать

problem ['prɒblǝm] проблема

proceed [prǝ'si:d] продолжать, следовать

process ['prǝʊses] процесс

procession [prǝ'seʃn] процессия

prodigious [prǝ'dɪʤǝs] невероятный

produce [prǝ'dju:s] производить

product ['prɒdʌkt] продукт

profession [prǝ'feʃn] профессия

professional [prǝ'feʃǝnǝl] профессиональный

professionally [prǝ'feʃǝnǝli] профессионально

professor [prǝ'fesǝr] профессор

profound [prǝ'faʊnd] абсолютный

profoundly [prǝ'faʊndli] глубоко

programme ['prǝʊgræm] программа

progress ['prǝʊgres] прогресс

progressively [prǝʊ'gresɪvli] неуклонно

prohibited [prǝʊ'hɪbɪtɪd] запрещенный

prohibition [,prǝʊɪ'bɪʃn] запрещение, запрет

proliferate [prǝ'lɪfǝreɪt] размножаться

prolong [prǝ'lɒŋ] продлевать

prominent ['prɒmɪnǝnt] известный, важный

promiscuity [,prɒmɪ'skju:ǝti] неразборчивость

promiscuous [prǝ'mɪskjuǝs] распущенный

promise ['prɒmɪs] 1) обещание 2) обещать

promising ['prɒmɪsɪŋ] 1) многообещающий, перспективный 2) V-ing от promise

pronounce [prǝ'naʊns] произносить

propaganda [,prɒpǝ'gændǝ] пропаганда

propeller [prǝ'pelǝ] пропеллер

proper ['prɒpǝ] надлежащий

properly ['prɒpǝli] должным образом

property ['prɒpǝtɪ] имущество

propose [prǝ'pǝʊz] предлагать

prospect ['prɒspekt] перспектива, вероятность

prosperity [prɒ'sperǝti] процветание

prostrate [prɒ'streɪt] растягиваться

protest ['prǝʊtest] протестовать

prove [pru:v] доказывать

proverb ['prɒvæ:rb] пословица

providence ['prɒvɪdǝns] провидение

provost ['prɒvǝst] проректор

psychically ['saɪkɪkǝli] физически

psychological [,saɪkǝ'lɒʤɪkǝl] психологический

psychologically [,saɪkǝ'lɒʤɪkli] психологически

psychologist [saɪ'kɒlǝʤɪst] психолог

psychology [saɪ'kɒlǝʤi] психология

public ['pʌblɪk] публичный

published ['pʌblɪʃt] опубликованный

pueblo ['pweblǝʊ] поселение

pull [pʊl] тянуть

pulse [pʌls] 1) пульс 2) пульсировать

pulsing ['pʌlsɪŋ] 1) пульсирующий 2) Ving от pulse

puma ['pju:mǝ] пума

pump [pʌmp] 1) качать, накачивать 2) качать

punch [pʌnʧ] 1) ударять, пробивать 2) удар

punish ['pʌnɪʃ] наказывать

punished ['pʌnɪʃt] наказанный

punishment ['pʌnɪʃmǝnt] наказание

pure [pjʊǝ] чистый

purified ['pjʊǝrɪfaɪd] очищенный

purify ['pjʊǝrɪfaɪ] очищать

purple ['pæ:rpǝl] пурпурный

purpose ['pæ:pǝs] цель

pursuit [pǝr'sju:t] 1) погоня 2) гнаться

push [pʊʃ] толкать, пихать, прилагать усилия

put [put] класть, вешать, ставить, помещать

puzzle [pʌzl] 1) загадка 2) озадачивать

puzzled ['pʌzld] озадаченный

pyramid ['pɪrǝmɪd] пирамида

quality ['kwɒlǝtɪ] качество

quarter ['kwɔ:tǝ] четверть

queer [kwɪǝ] странный

question ['kwesʧǝn] 1) вопрос 2) спрашивать, допрашивать

questioningly ['kwesʧǝnɪŋlɪ] вопросительно

queue [kju:] стоять в очереди

quick [kwɪk] быстрый

quickened ['kwɪkǝnd] ускоренный

quickly ['kwɪklɪ] быстро

quiet ['kwaɪǝt] 1) тихий; безмолвный 2) затихать

quietly ['kwaɪǝtlɪ] тихо

quit [kwɪt] бросать, покидать

quite [kwaɪt] вполне

quiver ['kwɪvǝr] дрожать

rabbit ['ræbɪt] заяц

rack [ræk] 1) полка, стеллаж 2) доставать, мучать 3) rack-full полный стеллаж

radiate ['reɪdieɪt] излучать

radical ['rædɪkǝl] радикальный

radio ['reɪdɪǝʊ] радио

rag [ræg] тряпка

rage [reɪʤ] 1) гнев 2) свирепствовать

ragged ['rægɪd] изнурённый; истрёпанный; неприятный на слух (о звуках)

raid [reɪd] рейд

rain [reɪn] 1) дождь 2) идти (о дожде)

raise [reɪz] поднимать

ran [ræn] прош. вр. от run

random ['rændǝm] случайный

rang [ræŋ] прош. вр. от ring

rank [ræŋk] пахнущий

rapidly ['ræpɪdli] быстро

rapture ['ræpʧǝr] восторг

rasp [rɑ:sp] хрипота

raspberry ['rɑ:zbǝri] малина

rate [reɪt] скорость

rather ['rɑ:ðǝ] довольно

ration ['ræʃǝn] нормировать

rational ['ræʃǝnǝl] рациональный

rattle ['rætl] дребезжать, греметь

ravine [rǝ'vi:n] ущелье

raving [reɪvɪŋ] бессвязный

ray [reɪ] луч

reach [ri:ʧ] добираться, достигать

reaction [rɪ'ækʃǝn] реакция

read [ri:d] читать

reader ['ri:dǝ] читатель

reading ['ri:dɪŋ] 1) чтение 2) Ving от read

ready ['redɪ] 1) готовый 2) готовить

real [rɪǝl] реальный

reality [rɪ'ælǝtɪ] реальность

realization [,rɪǝlaɪ'zeɪʃǝn] осознание

realize ['rɪǝlaɪz] осознавать

really ['rɪǝlɪ] действительно

reason ['ri:zǝn] 1) причина 2) рассуждать

reasonable ['ri:zǝnǝbl] благоразумный

reassure [,ri:ǝ'ʃʊǝ] успокаивать, убеждать

reassuringly [,riǝ'ʃʊrɪŋli] обнадеживающе

rebottling [,ri:'bɒtlɪŋ] зд. перераспределение

recapture [ri:'kæpʧǝ] возвращать

receive [rɪ'si:v] получать

receiver [rɪ'si:vǝ] приемник

recently ['ri:sǝntlɪ] недавно

receptacle [rɪ'septǝkl] вместилище

recession [rɪ'seʃǝn] рецессия

reciprocated [rɪ'sɪprǝkeɪt] взаимный

recite [rɪ'saɪt] повторять, цитировать

recognition [,rekǝg'nɪʃn] осознание

recognize ['rekǝgnaɪz] признавать, узнавать

recoil [rɪ'kɔɪl] отпрянуть

re-colonized ['ri:'kɒlǝnaɪzd] заново колонизированный

reconcile ['rekǝnsaɪl] помирить

record ['rekɔ:d] 1) запись 2) записывать

recover [rɪ'kʌvǝ] восстанавливаться

recovery [rɪ'kʌvǝri] восстановление

red [red] красный

redder ['redǝ] срав. ст. от red

reduced [rɪ'dju:st] сниженный

reeking [ri:k] пахнуть

reel [ri:l] раскачиваться

reference ['refǝrǝns] отсылка

refer [rɪ'fæ:] обращаться

refrain [rɪ'freɪn] воздерживаться

refreshing [rɪ'freʃɪŋ] освежающий

refusal [rɪ'fju:zǝl] отказ

refuse [rɪ'fju:z] отказываться

regain [rɪ'geɪn] восстановить

regard [rɪ'gɑ:rd] относительно

regardless [rɪ'gɑ:rdlǝs] независимо от чего-либо

regular ['regjǝlǝ] регулярный

regularly ['regjǝlǝrli] регулярно

regulation [,regjʊ'leɪʃn] регулирование

reject [rɪ'ʤekt] отвергать

rejoice [rɪ'ʤɔɪs] радоваться

rejoin [,ri:'ʤɔɪn] присоединяться

relation [rɪ'leɪʃn] связь

relationship [rɪ'leɪʃǝnʃɪp] отношения

relativity [,relǝ'tɪvǝti] относительность

relaxed [rɪ'lækst] расслабленный

release [rɪ'li:s] отпустить

relevant ['relǝvǝnt] относящийся к делу

religion [rɪ'lɪʤǝn] религия

religious [rǝ'lɪʤǝs] религиозный

reluctance [rɪ'lʌktǝns] сопротивление

reluctant [rɪ'lʌktǝnt] делающий что-л. с большой неохотой

remain [rɪ'meɪn] оставаться

remainder [rɪ'meɪndǝ] остаток

remaining [rɪ'meɪnɪŋ] 1) Ving от remain 2) оставшийся

remains [rɪ'meɪnz] останки

remark [rɪ'mɑ:k] 1) замечание 2) отмечать, делать замечание

remember [rɪ'membǝ] вспоминать, запоминать, помнить

remind [rɪ'maɪnd] напоминать

remorse [rɪ'mɔ:s] раскаяние

remorseless [rɪ'mɔ:rslǝs] безжалостный

remove [rɪ'mu:v] перемещать, убирать

reparation [,repǝ'reɪʃn] компенсация

repeat [rɪ'pi:t] повторять

repetition [,repǝ'tɪʃn] повторение

replaced [rɪ'pleɪst] вернувшийся на свое место

reply [rɪ'plaɪ] 1) ответ 2) отвечать

report [rɪ'pɔ:t] 1) сообщать; доносить 2) отчёт

reporter [rɪ'pɔ:tǝ] корреспондент

represent [,reprɪ'zent] представлять

representative [,reprɪ'zentǝtɪv] представитель

reproach [rɪ'prǝʊʧ] упрек

reproachful [rɪ'prǝʊʧfǝl] упрекающий

reproduce [,ri:prǝ'dju:s] воспроизводить

reproduction [,ri:prǝ'dʌkʃn] размножение

repulsive [rɪ'pʌlsɪv] отвратительный

reputation [,repjʊ'teɪʃn] репутация

requiem ['rekwiǝm] реквием

require [rɪ'kwaɪǝ] требовать

rescue ['reskju:] спасать

rescuer ['reskjʊǝ] спасатель

research [rɪ'sæ:ʧ] 1) исследование 2) исследовать

reservation [,rezǝr'veɪʃn] резервация

reserved [rɪ'zæ:rvd] предназначенный

resident ['rezɪdǝnt] житель

resignation [,rezɪg'neɪʃǝn] отставка

resign [rɪ'zaɪn] уходить в отставку

resist [rɪ'zɪst] оказывать сопротивление

resonant ['rezǝnǝnt] звонкий

resort [rɪ'zɔ:rt] the last resort последний шанс

resource [rɪ'zɔ:s] источник

respectfully [rɪ'spektfǝli] почтительно

respective [rɪ'spektɪv] соотносящийся

respectively [rɪ'spektɪvli] соответственно

respiratory [rɪ'spɪrǝtǝri] дыхательный

respond [rɪ'spɒnd] отвечать

response [rɪ'spɒns] ответ

responsibility [rɪ,spɒntsǝ'bɪlǝtɪ] ответственность

rest [rest] 1) отдыхать 2) остальной, остальное 3) rest-house съемный домик для отдыха

restlessly ['restlǝsli] беспокойно

result [rɪ'zʌlt] 1) результат 2) кончаться чем-л.

resume [rɪ'zju:m] возобновлять, продолжать; занимать

resurrection [,rezǝ'rekʃn] воскрешение

retch [reʧ] рыгать

retreat [rɪ'tri:t] отступать

return [rɪ'tæ:n] возвращаться, возвращать

reveal [rɪ'vi:l] открывать; разоблачать

revenge [rɪ'venʤ] месть

reverted [rɪ'væ:rt] обращать

revolting [rɪ'vǝʊltɪŋ] отвратительный

revoltingness [rɪ'vǝʊltɪŋnǝs] отвратительность

revolution [,revǝ'lu:ʃn] революция

reward [rɪ'wɔ:rd] 1) награда 2) награждать

rhinoceros [raɪ'nɒsǝrǝs] носорог

rhyme [raɪm] рифма

rhythm ['rɪðǝm] ритм

rich [rɪʧ] богатый

richer ['rɪʧǝ] срав. ст. от rich

riches ['rɪʧɪz] богатство

richly ['rɪʧli] богато

rid [rɪd] to get rid of избавляться

ridiculous [rɪ'dɪkjǝlǝs] нелепый, смешной

ridiculously [rɪ'dɪkjǝlǝsli] нелепо, смешно

right [raɪt] 1) правый 2) прямо; право

rigorously ['rɪgǝrǝsli] рьяно, методично

rim [rɪm] край

ring [rɪŋ] 1) звонить 2) кольцо

ringing ['rɪŋɪŋ] 1) звенящий 2) Ving от ring

ripped [rɪpt] разорванный

rise [raɪz] восходить, подниматься

risk [rɪsk] угроза, риск

rite [raɪt] обряд

rival ['raɪvǝl] соперник

river ['rɪvǝ] река

road [rǝʊd] дорога

roar [rɔ:] 1) рёв 2) реветь

rock [rɒk] 1) камень 2) качать, качаться

rocket ['rɒkɪt] 1) ракета 2) устремляться вверх 3) rocket-plane ракетный самолет

rode [rǝʊd] прош. вр. от ride

roll [rǝʊl] скатываться

romance [rǝʊ'mæns] романтика, роман

roof [ru:f] крыша

room [ru:m] комната

root [ru:t] 1) корень 2) копаться

rope [rǝʊp] веревка

rose [rǝʊz] 1) прош. вр. от rise 2) роза

rosemary ['rǝʊzmǝri] розмарин

rotation [rǝʊ'teɪʃn] вращение

roughly ['rʌfli] грубо

round [raʊnd] 1) круглый 2) закруглять; огибать

row [rǝʊ] ряд

rub [rʌb] тереть

rubber ['rʌbǝ] резиновый

rubbish ['rʌbɪʃ] ерунда, мусор

ruby ['ru:bi] рубин

ruddy ['rʌdi] 1) румяный 2) ruddy-faced с румяным лицом

rude [ru:d] грубый

rudimentary [,ru:dɪ'mentǝri] простейший

rug [rʌg] ковёр

rule [ru:l] правило

rumble ['rʌmbl] громыхать

rumbling ['rʌmblɪŋ] 1) громыхание 2) Ving от rumble

rumor ['ru:mǝ] слух, сплетня

run [rʌn] бежать

rush [rʌʃ] нестись, бросаться

rushing ['rʌʃɪŋ] 1) торопящийся 2) Ving от rush

sack [sæk] 1) мешок 2) увольнять 3) sack-shaped мешковатый, в форме мешка

sacrifice ['sækrɪfaɪs] 1) жертва 2) жертвовать

sad [sæd] грустный

sadly ['sædlɪ] грустно, печально

sadness ['sædnǝs] грусть, печаль

safe [seɪf] безопасный

safely ['seɪflɪ] безопасно

safer ['seɪfǝ] срав. ст. от safe

safety ['seɪftɪ] безопасность

sagging ['sægɪŋ] обвислый

said [sed] прош. вр., прич. прош. вр. от say

sailor ['seɪlǝ] моряк

sake [seɪk] ради

sale [seɪl] продажа

saline ['seɪlaɪn] saline solution соляной раствор

salt [sɔ:lt] соль

same [seɪm] такой же

sanctimonious [,sæŋktɪ'mǝʊniǝs] набожный

sand [sænd] песок

sandalwood ['sændǝl,wʊd] сандаловое дерево

sandy ['sændi] зд. со светлыми волосами

sane [seɪn] здравый

sang [sæŋ] прош. вр. от sing

sarcastically [sɑ:'kæstɪkli] саркастично

sat [sæt] прош. вр., прич. прош. вр. от sit

ʃaturday ['sætǝdeɪ] суббота

savage ['sævɪʤ] дикарь

savagery ['sævɪʤǝri] дикарство

saw [sɔ:] 1) прош. вр. от see 2) пилить

say [seɪ] говорить

scalding ['skɔ:ldɪŋ] обжигающий

scale [skeɪl] масштаб

scamper ['skæmpǝ] карабкаться, перебегать

scandalous ['skændǝlǝs] скандальный

scarcely ['skeǝsli] едва ли

scare [skeǝ] пугать

scared ['skeǝd] 1) испуганный 2) Ving от scare

scarlet ['skɑ:rlǝt] багряный

scatter ['skætǝ] разбрасывать

scenario [sǝ'nɑ:riǝʊ] сценарий

scene [si:n] сцена

scent [sent] запах

scented ['sentɪd] с запахом чего-либо

schedule ['ʃedju:l] расписание

school [sku:l] школа

science ['saɪǝns] наука

scientific [,saɪǝn'tɪfɪk] научный

scientist ['saɪǝntɪst] ученый

scope [skǝʊp] охват, объем

scowl ['skaʊl] скалиться

scramble ['skræmbl] быстро вставать

scratched [skræʧt] расцарапанный

scream [skri:m] 1) кричать 2) крик

screaming ['skri:mɪŋ] 1) крик 2) кричащий 3) Ving от scream

screen [skri:n] экран

screw-driver [skru:'draɪvǝ] отвертка

screw [skru:] 1) вертеть, закручивать 2) винт, гайка

scribble ['skrɪbl] черкать

scuttle ['skʌtl] поспешно бежать

sea [si:] море

search [sæ:ʧ] 1) искать 2) поиск

seat [si:t] 1) сиденье, место 2) сажать

second ['sekǝnd] 1) второй 2) секунда

secret ['si:krǝt] тайна

secretary ['sekrǝtǝrɪ] секретарь

secretly ['si:krǝtli] в тайне

secure [sɪ'kjʊǝ] закреплять

security [sɪ'kjʊǝrǝti] охрана

see [si:] 1) видеть 2) посмотреть

seed [si:d] семя

seek [si:k] искать

seem [si:m] казаться

seemingly ['si:mɪŋlɪ] по-видимому

seen [si:n] прич. прош. вр. от see

seize [si:z] схватить

seized [si:zd] 1) охваченный 2) прош. вр. от seize

seizure ['si:ʒǝr] припадок, судороги

selenium [ǝ'li:niǝm] селен

self [self] собственная личность, своё, я,

self-confidence [self 'kɒnfɪdǝns] уверенность в себе

self-confident [self 'kɒnfɪdǝnt] уверенный в себе

self-denial [self dɪ'naɪǝl] самоотверженность

self-discipline [self 'dɪsɪplɪn] самодисциплина

self-evident [self 'evɪdǝnt] бесспорный

self-indulgence [self ɪn'dʌlʤǝns] самоугождение

self-punishment [self 'pʌnɪʃmǝnt] самонаказание

semblance ['semblǝns] схожесть

semi-final ['semi 'faɪnl] полуфинал

ʃemi-Moron ['semi 'mɔ:rɒn] полутупой

ʃenegalese [,senǝgǝ'li:z] сенегальский

senility [sɪ'nɪlɪti] старость

sensation [sen'seɪʃn] ощущение, сенсация

sensational [sen'seɪʃǝnǝl] сенсационный

sense [sents] 1) чувство 2) чувствовать

sensible ['sensǝbl] здравомыслящий, разумный

sensitive ['sensǝtɪv] чувствительный

sensuality [,sensjʊ'ælɪti] чувственность

sent [sent] прош. вр., прич. прош. вр. от send

sentence ['sentǝns] 1) предложение; приговор 2) приговаривать

sentiment ['sentɪmǝnt] чувство

separate ['seprɪt] 1) разделять 2) раздельный

separation [,sepǝ'reɪʃn] разделение

serenely [sǝ'ri:nli] безмятежно

sergeant ['sɑ:rʤǝnt] сержант

series ['sɪǝri:z] ряд

serious ['sɪǝrɪǝs] серьёзный

seriously ['sɪǝrɪǝslɪ] серьёзно

serpent ['sæ:rpǝnt] змей

serve [sæ:v] служить; подавать

service ['sæ:vɪs] служба

set [set] 1) ставить 2) прош. вр., прич. прош. вр. от set

setting ['setɪŋ] 1) атмосфера 2) Ving от set

settle ['setl] усаживаться

seven ['sevǝn] семь

seventeen [,sevǝn'ti:n] семнадцать

seventeenth [,sevǝn'ti:nθ] семнадцатый

seventh ['sevǝnθ] седьмой

seventy ['sevǝntɪ] семьдесят

seventy-two ['sevnti tu:] семьдесят два

several ['sevǝrǝl] несколько

severely [sɪ'vɪǝrli] строго

severity [sɪ'verǝti] строгость

sewage ['su:ɪʤ] канализация

sex [seks] секс

sex-hormone [seks 'hɔ:mǝʊn] половой гормон

sex-life [seks laɪf] половая жизнь

sexophonist [sæk'sɔfǝnist] саксофонист (игра слов, sax=sex)

sexual ['seksjʊǝl] сексуальный

shadow ['ʃædǝʊ] тень

shaft [ʃɑ:ft] древко (стрелы)

shake [ʃeɪk] 1) трясти; дрожать 2) встряска

ʃhakespeare ['ʃeɪkspɪǝ] Шекспир

shallow ['ʃælǝʊ] мелкий

shame [ʃeɪm] стыд

shape [ʃeɪp] образ, форма

share [ʃeǝ] делить

sharp [ʃɑ:p] острый

shave [ʃeɪv] бриться

she [ʃi:] она

she-dog [ʃi:dɒg] сука

sheet [ʃi:t] 1) лист 2) простыня

shelf [ʃelf] полка

shell [ʃel] shell pink ракушечный цвет

shield [ʃi:ld] 1) щит 2) защищать

shift [ʃɪft] перемещать

shining ['ʃaɪnɪŋ] 1) сияние 2) сияющий

ship [ʃɪp] 1) корабль 2) посылать

shirt [ʃæ:t] рубашка

shock [ʃɒk] 1) шок 2) шокировать, потрясать

shocked [ʃɒkt] 1) шокированный 2) прош. вр. от shock

shoe [ʃu:] туфля, ботинок

shone [ʃɒn] прош. вр., прич. прош. вр. от shine

shook [ʃuk] прош. вр. от shake

short [ʃɔ:t] короткий, краткий

shorten ['ʃɔ:rtǝn] сокращать

shorter ['ʃɔ:tǝ] срав. ст. от short

shorts [ʃɔ:ts] шорты

shot [ʃɒt] прич. прош. вр. от shoot

should [ʃʊd] следует

shoulder ['ʃǝʊldǝ] 1) плечо 2) пихать

shout [ʃaʊt] 1) кричать 2) крик

shouting [ʃaʊtɪŋ] 1) крик 2) V-ing от shout

shove [ʃʌv] пихать

show [ʃǝʊ] 1) показывать 2) шоу

shower ['ʃǝʊǝ] 1) душ 2) принимать душ

shown [ʃǝʊn] показанный

shrank [ʃræŋk] прош. вр. от shrink

shriek [ʃri:k] пронзительно кричать, визжать

shriek [ʃri:k] визжать

shrill [ʃrɪl] пронзительный, резкий

shrink [ʃrɪŋk] зд. отходить

shrubbery ['ʃrʌbǝri] кусты

shrub [ʃrʌb] кустарник

shrug [ʃrʌg] пожимать плечами

shudder ['ʃʌdǝ] 1) дрожь 2) содрогаться

shudder ['ʃʌdǝr] содрогаться

shuffle ['ʃʌfl] 1) шаркать, волочить ноги 2) шарканье

shut [ʃʌt] 1) закрывать 2) закрытый

shy [ʃaɪ] застенчивый

sick [sɪk] больной

sickness ['sɪknǝs] болезнь

side [saɪd] сторона

sigh [saɪ] 1) вздыхать 2) вздох

sight [saɪt] вид

sightseer ['saɪt,si:ǝ] зевака

sign [saɪn] 1) знак; признак 2) подписывать

signal ['sɪgnǝl] 1) сигнал, знак 2) подавать сигнал

signature ['sɪgnǝʧǝ] подпись

significance [sɪg'nɪfɪkǝns] важность

silence ['saɪlǝnts] 1) тишина 2) заглушать

silent ['saɪlǝnt] безмолвный, тихий

silently ['saɪlǝntlɪ] тихо, молча

silk [sɪlk] 1) шёлк 2) шёлковый

silkily ['sɪlkɪli] шелковистый

silly ['sɪlɪ] глупый

silver ['sɪlvǝ] серебряный

similar ['sɪmɪlǝ] похожий

similarly ['sɪmɪlǝrli] похоже

simple ['sɪmpl] простой

simply ['sɪmplɪ] просто

simultaneously [,sɪmǝl'teɪniǝsli] одновременно

sin [sɪn] 1) грех 2) грешить

since [sɪnts] с тех пор, с

sing [sɪŋ] петь

singery ['sɪŋǝri],песенная,

singing ['sɪŋɪŋ] 1) пение 2) V-ing от sing

single ['sɪŋgl] один

singlet ['sɪŋglǝt] майка

sink [sɪŋk] тонуть

sin [sɪn] 1) грех 2) грешить

sip [sɪp] потягивать, пить

siren ['saɪǝrǝn] сирена

sister ['sɪstǝ] сестра

sit [sɪt] сидеть

sitting ['sɪtɪŋ] 1) сидящий 2) V-ing от sit

situated ['sɪʧueɪtɪd] находящийся

situation [,sɪʧʊ'eɪʃǝn] ситуация

six [sɪks] шесть

sixteen [,sɪk'sti:n] шестнадцать

sixty ['sɪkstɪ] шестьдесят

sixty-seven ['sɪksti 'sevn] шестьдесят семь

sixty-seventh ['sɪksti 'sevnθ] шестьдесят седьмой

sixty-story ['sɪksti 'stɔ:ri] шестидесятиэтажный

sixty-two ['sɪksti tu:] шестьдесят два

skeleton ['skelɪtǝn] скелет

skies [skaɪz] небеса

skill [skɪl] навык

skin [skɪn] кожа

skip [skɪp] пропускать

skirt [skæ:rt] 1) юбка 2) задевать, обходить

sky [skaɪ] небо

sky-signs [skaɪ saɪnz] воздушные афиши

slackly ['slækli] лениво

slam [slæm] хлопать, захлопываться

slant ['slɑ:nt] двигаться под углом

slap [slæp] 1) шлепок 2) шлепнуть

slash [slæʃ] резать

slave [sleɪv] раб

sleep [sli:p] спать

sleeping ['sli:pɪŋ] 1) спящий 2) Ving от sleep

sleepless ['sli:plǝs] бессонный

sleep-teaching [sli:p 'ti:ʧɪŋ] обучение во сне

sleepy ['sli:pi] сонный

sleeve [sli:v] рукав

sleeveless ['sli:vlǝs] без рукавов

slender ['slendǝ] стройный

slept [slept] прош. вр., прич. прош. вр. от sleep

slid [slɪd] прош. вр., прич. прош. вр. от slide

slide [slaɪd] скользить

slightly ['slaɪtlɪ] незначительно

sling [slɪŋ] праща

slip [slɪp] 1) бланк, бумажка 2) соскользнуть; скользить; двигать

slit [slɪt] щёлочка

slogan ['slǝʊgǝn] слоган, девиз

slow [slǝʊ] медленный

slowed [slǝʊd] 1) замедленный 2) прош. вр. от slow

slowly ['slǝʊlɪ] медленно

small [smɔ:l] маленький

smaller ['smɔ:lǝr] срав. ст. от small

smallest [smɔ:lɪst] превосх. ст. от small

smash [smæʃ] разбивать

smell [smel] 1) пахнуть; чуять 2) запах

smelling ['smelɪŋ] 1) пахнущий 2) Ving от smell

smile [smaɪl] 1) улыбка 2) улыбаться

smiling ['smaɪlɪŋ] 1) улыбающийся 2) Ving от smile

smoke [smǝʊk] 1) дым 2) курить

smoke-stack ['smǝʊkstæk] дымовая труба

smooth [smu:ð] 1) гладкий 2) разглаживать

smoothly ['smu:ðli] гладко

smut [smʌt] грязь, непристойность

smutty ['smʌti] грязный, непристойный

snake [sneɪk] змея

sniff [snɪf] нюхать

snore [snɔ:r] храпеть

snuggly ['snʌgli] уютно

so [sǝʊ] 1) так 2) so-called так называемый 2) so-long пока что

sob [sɒb] 1) рыдать 2) рыдание

sobbing ['sɒbɪŋ] 1) рыдания 2) Ving от sob

sobbingly ['sɒbɪŋli] рыдающе

social ['sǝʊʃǝl] социальный

socially ['sǝʊʃǝli] социально

society [sǝ'saɪǝti] общество

sock [sɒk] носок

soda ['sǝʊdǝ] газировка

sofa ['sǝʊfǝ] диван

soft [sɒft] мягкий; слабый

softly ['sɒftlɪ] тихо

sole [sǝʊl] единственный

solemn ['sɒlǝm] торжественный

solemnly ['sɒlǝmli] торжественно

solicitously [sǝ'lɪsɪtǝsli] заботливо

solid ['sɒlɪd] твёрдый

solidarity [,sɒlɪ'dærǝti] солидарность

solid-looking ['sɒlɪd 'lʊkɪŋ] выглядящий реально

solidly ['sɒlɪdli] твердо

solitude ['sɒlǝ,tju:d] одиночество

solution [sǝ'lu:ʃn] решение

solve [sɒlv] решать

soma ['sǝumǝ] 1) сома (наркотик) 2) soma-holiday сома-выходной

some [sʌm] немного

somebody ['sʌmbǝdɪ] кто-нибудь, кто-то

somehow ['sʌmhaʊ] как-то

someone ['sʌmwʌn] кто-нибудь, кто-то

something ['sʌmθɪŋ] что-то

sometimes ['sʌmtaɪmz] иногда

somewhat ['sʌmwɒt] в некоторой степени

somewhere ['sʌmweǝ] где-то

son [sʌn] сын

song [sɒŋ] песня

soon [su:n] скоро

soothing ['su:ðɪŋ] успокаивающий

soprano [sǝ'prɑ:nǝʊ] сопрано

sorry ['sɒrɪ] полный сожаления

sort [sɔ:t] тип

soul [sǝʊl] душа

sound [saʊnd] 1) звучать 2) звук

soundtrack ['saʊnd,træk] аудио сопровождение

sourly ['saʊǝrli] кисло

south [saʊθ] юг

south-east [,saʊθ'i:st] юго-восток

south-south-west [saʊθ-saʊθ-west] юг-юг-восток

southwards ['saʊθwǝdz] на юг

south-westerly ['saʊθ'westǝli] на юго-запад

space [speɪs] пространство

spade [speɪd] лопата

spadeful ['speɪdful] полная лопата

ʃpanish ['spænɪʃ] испанский

spanner ['spænǝr] гаечный ключ

spare [speǝ] освобождать; жалеть

spat [spæt] прош. вр. от spit

speak [spi:k] говорить

speaker ['spi:kǝ] 1) спикер 2) динамик

speaking ['spi:kɪŋ] 1) говорящий 2) Ving от speak

special ['speʃǝl] особый

specialist ['speʃǝlɪst] специалист

specially ['speʃǝli] особенно

speck [spek] пятнышко

spectacle ['spektǝkl] действо, представление

spectator [spek'teɪtǝ] зритель, наблюдатель

speculation [,spekjʊ'leɪʃn] спекуляция

speech [spi:ʧ] речь

speechless ['spi:ʧlɪs] безмолвный

speed [spi:d] to speed up увеличивать скорость

speedometer [spɪ'dɒmɪtǝ] спидометр

spend [spend] 1) тратить 2) проводить

spent [spent] прош. вр., прич. прош. вр. от spend

sperm [spæ:rm] sperm whale кашалот

spermatozoa [,spæ:mǝtǝʊ'zǝʊǝ] сперматозоид

spider-web ['spaɪdǝweb] паутина

spike [spaɪk] 1) шип 2) резко подскакивать, подниматься

spill [spɪl] проливать

spinner ['spɪnǝ] прядильщик

spirit ['spɪrɪt] дух

spite [spaɪt] in spite of несмотря на

splendid ['splendɪd] великолепный

spoil [spɔɪl] портить

spoke [spǝʊk] прош. вр. от speak

spoken ['spǝʊkǝn] прич. прош. вр. от speak

sport [spɔ:t] 1) спорт 2) выставлять напоказ

sporting [spɔ:rtɪŋ] зд. веселый, разговорчивый

spot [spɒt] 1) пятно 2) запятнать; замечать

sprang [spræŋ] прош. вр. от spring

spraying ['spreɪɪŋ] spraying machine распылитель

spring [sprɪŋ] 1) весенний 2) резко начинать движение

sprinkled ['sprɪŋkl] посыпать

sprout [spraʊt] вырастать

sprung [sprʌŋ] прич. прош. вр. от spring

spun [spʌn] прош. вр., прич. прош. вр. от spin

squalid ['skwɒlɪd] убогий

squalidly ['skwɒlɪdli] убого

squalor ['skwɒlǝr] запущенность

square [skweǝ] 1) квадрат 2) площадь

squat [skwɒt] приседать

squeak [skwi:k] 1) писк 2) пищать

squeal [skwi:l] 1) визг 2) визжать

squeamish ['skwi:mɪʃ] брезгливый

squeeze [skwi:z] сжимать, стискивать

stab [stæb] ранить ножом

stability [stǝ'bɪlǝti] стабильность

stabilize ['steɪbǝlaɪz] стабилизироваться

stable ['steɪbl] стабильный

staff [stɑ:f] 1) сотрудники 2) наполнять сотрудниками

stagger ['stægǝr] шататься

stained [steɪnd] грязный, помеченный

staircase ['steǝr,keɪs] лестница

stairs [steǝz] лестница

stall [stɔ:l] кабинка

stammer ['stæmǝ] запинаться

stamp [stæmp] 1) марка 2) отмечать; топать

stampede [stæm'pi:d] 1) бегство 2) проноситься

stand [stænd] 1) стоять; ставить 2) поза; стенд

standard ['stændǝd] 1) стандартный 2) стандарт

standstill ['stænd,stɪl] остановка

stank [stæŋk] прош. вр. от stink

stanza ['stænzǝ] строфа

starch [stɑ:rʧ] крахмал

stare [steǝ] пристально глядеть, уставиться

starry ['stɑ:ri] звездный

start [stɑ:t] начинать, начинаться

startled ['stɑ:tld] испуганный

startling ['stɑ:rtǝlɪŋ] ошеломляющий

startlingly ['stɑ:rtǝlɪŋli] ошеломляюще

state [steɪt] 1) государственный 2) утверждать

statement [steɪtmǝnt] заявление

station ['steɪʃǝn] станция

stave [steɪv] палка

stay [steɪ] оставаться

steadily ['stedili] постепенно

steady ['stedi] крепкий, устойчивый

steal [sti:l] воровать

steep [sti:p] крутой

stench [stenʧ] вонь

step [step] 1) шаг; ступень 2) ступать, шагать

stereoscopic [,steriǝ'skɒpɪk] стереоскопический

sterile ['steraɪl] стерильный

sterilize ['sterǝlaɪz] стерилизовать

steward ['stju:ǝrd] стюард

stick [stɪk] 1) палка 2) запихивать; оставаться; придерживаться

stickler ['stɪklǝ] ярый сторонник, педант

stiff [stɪf] неуклюжий, зажатый

stiffen ['stɪfn] сжиматься

stiflingly ['staɪfǝlɪŋli] удушающе

stigmata ['stɪgmǝtǝ] рубец, шрам

still [stɪl] 1) ещё, всё ещё 2) неподвижный 3) на месте, неподвижно

stimulate ['stɪmjʊleɪt] стимулировать

sting [stɪŋ] жалить

stinking ['stɪŋkɪŋ] вонючий

stir [stæ:r] шевелиться

stitch [stɪʧ] шить, зашивать

stocking ['stɒkɪŋ] чулок

stoically ['stǝʊɪkli] стоически

stoicism ['stǝʊɪ,sɪzm] стоицизм

stomach ['stʌmǝk] желудок

stone [stǝʊn] камень

stood [stu:d] прош. вр., прич. прош. вр. от stand

stoop [stu:p] наклоняться

stop [stɒp] останавливать; останавливаться

store [stɔ:] 1) магазин 2) хранить

storm [stɔ:m] 1) ураган, шторм 2) проноситься

story ['stɔ:rɪ] история

stout [staʊt] крепкий

straggle ['strægl] плестись

straight [streɪt] 1) прямой; верный, правдивый 2) прямо

straightforwardly [,streɪt'fɔ:r-

wǝdli] напрямую

strain [streɪn] 1) напряжение 2) напрягать; повреждать

strait [streɪt] пролив

strange [streɪnʤ] странный

strangely ['streɪnʤlɪ] странно

stranger ['streɪnʤǝ] незнакомец

strangle ['stræŋgl] душить

strategy ['strætǝʤi] стратегия

strawberry ['strɔ:bǝri] клубника

straw-coloured ['strɔ:,kʌlǝd] цвета соломы

streak [stri:k] 1) полоска 2) проноситься

streaked [stri:kt] полосатый

stream [stri:m] 1) ручей 2) литься, течь

streaming ['stri:mɪŋ] слезящийся

street [stri:t] улица

stretch [streʧ] 1) период, протяжение 2) тянуться

strict ['strɪkt] строгий

strictest ['strɪktɪst] превосх. ст. от. strict

striding ['straɪdɪŋ] шагающий

strike [straɪk] 1) ударять 2) озарить

striking ['straɪkɪŋ] 1) яркий 2) Ving от strike

string [strɪŋ] верёвка

strip [strɪp] 1) полоска 2) раздеваться, снимать

stroke [strǝʊk] 1) движение 2) касаться

strong [strɒŋ] сильный

strongly ['strɒŋlɪ] сильно

struck [strʌk] прош. вр., прич. прош. вр. от strike

struggle ['strʌgl] 1) зд. мучиться 2) пытаться изо всех сил

struggling ['strʌglɪŋ] 1) мучающийся 2) Ving от struggle

strumpet ['strʌmpɪt] потаскуха

stubbly ['stʌbli] с щетиной на лице

stubborn ['stʌbǝrn] упрямый

student ['stju:dǝnt] учащийся

studio ['stju:diǝʊ] студия

study ['stʌdɪ] 1) учиться; изучать 2) учебный 3) исследование

stuff [stʌf] 1) штука 2) набивать, наполнять; запихивать

stump [stʌmp] 1) пень 2) конечность

stunt [stʌnt] 1) выходка 2) приостанавливать

stunted ['stʌntɪd] замедленный в развитии

stupefied ['stju:pɪfaɪd] одурманенный

stupid ['stju:pɪd] тупой

stupor [stju:pǝ] ступор

sty [staɪ] свинарник

sub-basement [sʌb 'beɪsmǝnt] нижний подвал

ʃub-Bursar [sʌb 'bæ:sǝ] заместитель казначея

subject ['sʌbʤekt] 1) тема; объект 2) подвергать

subjected [sǝb'ʤektɪd] подвергнутый

ʃub-Reservation [sʌb rezǝ'veɪʃǝn] под-резервация

subside [sǝb'saɪd] утихать

subsidize ['sʌbsɪdaɪz] субсидировать

substitute ['sʌbstɪ,tju:t] заменитель

suburbs ['sʌbæ:rb] окраины

succeed [sǝk'si:d] преуспевать

success [sǝk'ses] удача, успех

successfully [sǝk'sesfʊli] успешно

such [sʌʧ] такой

sudden ['sʌdǝn] внезапный

suddenly ['sʌdǝnlɪ] вдруг

suffer ['sʌfǝ] страдать

suffering ['sʌfǝrɪŋ] 1) страдания 2) страдающий

suggest [sǝ'ʤest] предлагать

suggestion [sǝ'ʤesʧn] предложение

suitcase ['sju:tkeɪs] чемодан

sullenly ['sʌlǝnlɪ] угрюмо

sulphide ['sʌlfaɪd] сульфид

sulphurous ['sʌlfǝrǝs] сернистый

sultry ['sʌltri] душный

sum [sʌm] to sum up подводить итоги

summer ['sʌmǝ] лето

summertime ['sʌmǝr,taɪm] лето

sun [sʌn] солнце

sundae ['sʌndeɪ] мороженое

sung [sʌŋ] прош. вр. и прич. прош. вр. от sing

sunk [sʌŋk] прош. вр. от sink

sunlight ['sʌnlaɪt] солнечный свет

sunny ['sʌni] солнечный

sunrise ['sʌn,raɪz] восход

sunset ['sʌnset] закат

sunshine ['sʌnʃaɪn] солнечный свет

superb [sʊ'pæ:rb] отличный, великолепный

superintendent [,su:pǝrɪn'tendǝnt] надзиратель

superior [sʊ'pɪǝriǝ] старший по должности

supernatural [,su:pǝ'næʧǝrǝl] сверхъестественный

supernaturally [,su:pǝ'næʧǝrǝli] сверхестественно

superstition [,su:pǝ'stɪʃn] поверие, примета

supervision [,su:pǝr'vɪʒn] наблюдение

supper ['sʌpǝ] ужин

supply [sǝ'plaɪ] 1) запас 2) снабжать

support [sǝ'pɔ:t] поддерживать

suppose [sǝ'pǝʊz] предполагать

suppress [sǝ'pres] подавлять

suppression [sǝ'preʃn] подавление

supreme [sʊ'pri:m] верховный

sure [ʃʊǝ] уверенный

surgical ['sæ:rʤɪkl] хирургический

surname ['sæ:r,neɪm] фамилия

surprise [sǝ'praɪz] 1) удивлениe, неожиданность; сюрприз 2) удивлять

surprised [sǝ'praɪzd] 1) удивлённый 2) прош. вр. от surprise

surprising [sǝ'praɪzɪŋ] 1) удивительный 2) Ving от surprise

surprisingly [sǝ'praɪzɪŋli] удивительно

surrogate ['sʌrǝgǝt] 1) суррогат 2) суррогатный

surround [sǝ'raʊnd] окружать

surrounding [sǝ'raʊndɪŋ] окружающий

survive [sǝ'vaɪv] выжить

survivor [sǝr'vaɪvǝ] выживший

suspect [sʌs'pekt] подозревать

suspicion [sǝ'spɪʃn] подозрение

suspicious [sǝ'spɪʃǝs] подозрительный, подозревающий

swallow ['swɒlǝʊ] глотать

swarm [swɔ:rm] 1) рой 2) набрасываться толпой

swear [sweǝ] клясться

sweat [swet] 1) пот 2) потеть

sweep [swi:p] подметать

sweet [swi:t] 1) сладкий 2) конфета

swift [swɪft] быстрый

swiftest ['swɪftɪst] превосх. ст. от swift

swiftly [swɪftli] быстро

swim [swɪm] плавать

swine [swaɪn] свинья, сброд

switch [swɪʧ] 1) переключать 2) to switch off выключать

switchboard ['swɪʧ,bɔ:rd] панель управления

swivel ['swɪvǝl] крутиться

sworn [swɔ:n] прош. вр. и прич. прош. вр. от swear

swung [swʌŋ] прош. вр. от swing

syllable ['sɪlǝbl] слог

sympathetic [,sɪmpǝ'θetɪk] понимающий

sympathy ['sɪmpǝθɪ] сочувствие

symptom ['sɪmptǝm] симптом

synthesize ['sɪnθǝsaɪz] синтезировать, производить искусственно

synthetic [sɪn'θetɪk] синтетический

syphilis ['sɪfǝlɪs] сифилис

syringe [sɪ'rɪnʤ] шприц

system ['sɪstǝm] система

table ['teɪbl] 1) стол 2) table-topped с плоской крышей

tablet ['tæblǝt] таблетка

tactual ['tæktjʊǝl] тактильный

tactually ['tæktjʊǝli] тактильно

tail [teɪl] хвост

take [teɪk] брать; занимать время; вести кого-либо куда-либо

taken ['teɪkǝn] прич. прош. вр. от take

tale [teɪl] рассказ

talent ['tælǝnt] талант

talk [tɔ:k] 1) разговаривать 2) речь, разговор

tall [tɔ:l] высокий

taller ['tɔ:lǝ] срав. ст. от tall

tame [teɪm] 1) ручной 2) приручать

tap [tæp] стучать

tar [tɑ:r] деготь

tarragon ['tærǝgǝn] эстрагон

taste [teɪst] 1) вкус 2) пробовать

taught [tɔ:t] прош. вр. и прич. прош. вр. от teach

taxi ['tæksi] такси

taxicopter ['ttksi'kɒptǝ] летучее такси

teach [ti:ʧ] учить

teaching ['ti:ʧɪŋ] 1) учение 2) Ving от teach

tearfully ['tɪǝfʊli] слезно

tear [teǝ] рвать

tear [tɪǝ] слеза

technical ['teknɪkǝl] технический

technician [tek'nɪʃǝn] техник

technique [tek'ni:k] техника

teeth [ti:θ] мн. ч. от tooth

telephone ['telɪfǝʊn] телефон

telescopic [,telɪ'skɒpɪk] телескопический

television ['telɪvɪʒǝn] телевиденье

tell [tel] говорить, рассказывать

telling ['telɪŋ] 1) выразительный 2) V-ing от tell

temperature ['tempǝrǝʧǝ] температура

tempest ['tempɪst] буря

temptation [temp'teɪʃn] соблазн

ten [ten] десять

tend [tend] следить, ухаживать

tendency ['tendǝnsi] склонность

tender ['tendǝ] нежный, мягкий

tenderly ['tendǝli] милый

tenderness ['tendǝnɪs] нежность

tennis ['tenɪs] тенис

tension ['tenʧǝn] напряжение

terrace ['terǝs] терасса

terrible ['terǝbl] ужасный

terribly ['terǝblɪ] ужасно

terrified ['terɪfaɪd] в ужасе

terrifyingly ['terǝ,faɪɪŋli] ужасающе

terror ['terǝ] страх

test [test] 1) проверка 2) проверять; испытывать

testament ['testǝmǝnt] завет

testify ['testɪfaɪ] подтверждать

test-tube ['testtju:b] пробирка

than [ðæn] чем

thank [θæŋk] 1) спасибо 2) благодарить

thankful ['θæŋkfʊl] благодарный

that [ðæt] 1) тот 2) что

the [ðǝ] определённый артикль

thee [ði:] устар. you

their [ðeǝ] их

them [ðem] их от they

themselves [ðǝm'selvz] 1) себя, себе, собой 2) сами

then [ðen] тогда

theoretical [,θɪǝ'retɪkl] теоретический

theoretically [,θɪǝ'retɪkli] теоретически

theory ['θɪǝri] теория

there [ðeǝ] там

therefore ['ðeǝrfɔ:r] поэтому

these [ði:z] мн. ч. от this

they [ðeɪ] они

thick [θɪk] густой; толстый; тяжёлый

thin [θɪn] тонкий

thing [θɪŋ] вещь

think [θɪŋk] думать

third [θæ:d] третий

thirteen [θæ:'ti:n] тринадцать

thirty ['θæ:tɪ] тридцать

thirty-five ['θæ:ti faɪv] тридцать пять

thirty-four ['θæ:ti fɔ:] тридцать четыре

thirty-seven ['θæ:ti 'sevn] тридцать семь

thirty-seventh ['θæ:ti 'sevnθ] тридцать седьмой

thirty-six ['θæ:ti sɪks] тридцать шесть

thirty-three ['θæ:ti θri:] тридцать три

this [ðɪs] этот

thoroughly ['θʌrǝli] совершенно

those [ðǝʊz] мн. ч. от that

thou [ðaʊ] устар. you

though [ðǝʊ] хотя

thought [θɔ:t] 1) мысль 2) прош. вр., прич. прош. вр. от think

thousand ['θaʊzǝnd] тысяча

threat [θret] угроза

threaten ['θretn] угрожать

three ['θri:] три

threw [θru:] прош. вр. от throw

thrice [θraɪs] трижды

thrillingly ['θrɪlɪŋli] возбужденно

thrive [θraɪv] процветать

throat [θrǝʊt] горло

through [θru:] через, сквозь

throughout [θru:'aʊt] насквозь

throw [θrǝʊ] бросать

thrust [θrʌst] удар

thunder ['θʌndǝ] 1) гром 2) стучать

thunderstorm ['θʌndǝ,stɔ:rm] буря

θhursday ['θæ:rzdeɪ] четверг

thus [ðʌs] потому

thy [ðaɪ] устар. your

thyme [taɪm] тимьян

ticket ['tɪkɪt] билет

tide [taɪd] волна

tier [tɪǝr] ряд

tighten ['taɪtǝn] сжимать

tightly ['taɪtlɪ] крепко

till [tɪl] до, к

tilted ['tɪltɪd] 1) наклоненный 2) прош. вр. от tilt

time [taɪm] 1) время 2) раз 3) time-interval временной интервал

timid ['tɪmɪd] робкий

tingle ['tɪŋgl] пощипывать

tiny ['taɪni] миниатюрный

tipped [tɪpt] заканчивающийся чем-либо

tip [tɪp] 1) верхушка 2) опрокидываться; наклонять

tiptoe ['tɪptǝʊ] 1) цыпочки 2) идти на цыпочках

tired ['taɪǝd] усталый

title ['taɪtl] 1) название 2) title-page титул

titter ['tɪtǝr] хихикать

to [tu] 1) к 2) част. н.ф. гл.

today [tǝ'deɪ] сегодня

toe [tǝʊ] палец на ноге

together [tǝ'geðǝ] вместе

told [tǝʊld] прош. вр., прич. прош. вр. от tell

tolerably ['tɒlǝrǝbli] относительно

toleration [tɒlǝ'reɪʃn] выносливость

tomorrow [tǝ'mɒrǝʊ] завтра

tone [tǝʊn] тон

tonic ['tɒnɪk] тоник

tonight [tǝ'naɪt] сегодня вечером

too [tu:] слишком; тоже

took [tʊk] прош. вр. от take

tool [tu:l] инструмент

toothless ['tu:θlɪs] беззубый

top [tɒp] верхушка

torch [tɔ:ʧ] фонарь

tore [tɔ:] прош. вр. от tear

tormentor [tɔ:r'ment] мучитель

tornado [tɔ:r'neɪdǝʊ] торнадо

torrent ['tɒrǝnt] поток

tortilla [tɔ:r'ti:ǝ] тортилья

torture ['tɔ:ʧǝ] 1) пытка 2) пытать

toss [tɒs] бросать

tot [tɒt] малыш

total ['tǝʊtǝl] полный, тотальный

totemism ['tǝʊtǝmɪzm] тотемизм

touch [tʌʧ] 1) трогать, притрагиваться, касаться 2) касание

tough [tʌf] твердый

tour [tʊǝ] 1) тур, прогулка 2) осматривать

toward ['tǝʊǝd] к

towel ['taʊǝl] 1) полотенце 2) вытираться полотенцем

tower ['taʊǝ] 1) башня 2) возвышаться

trace [treɪs] 1) след 2) выслеживать

track [træk] 1) след 2) грузовик

tragedy ['træʤǝdɪ] трагедия

trail [treɪl] следовать

train [treɪn] 1) поезд 2) тренироваться

training ['treɪnɪŋ] 1) тренировка 2) Ving от train

trample ['træmpl] топтать

transference ['trænsfǝrǝns] перевод

transfer [træns'fæ] переводить, переносить

transform [træns'fɔ:rm] превращаться

transformer [træns'fɔ:rmǝ] преобразователь

transfusion [træns'fju:ʒn] переливание

transmitter [trænz'mɪtǝ] передатчик

transport ['trænspɔ:rt] транспорт

trapped [træpt] посаженый в клетку

travel ['trævǝl] путешествовать; двигаться

treacherous ['treʧǝrǝs] предательский, вероломный

treasure ['treʒǝ] сокровище

treat [tri:t] обходиться, обращаться

treatment ['tri:tmǝnt] лечение

tree [tri:] дерево

tremulous ['tremjʊlǝs] треморный

trial ['traɪǝl] суд, испытание

trichlormethyl [,trʌɪklɔ:rǝʊ'mi:θɪl] трихлорметил

tricked [trɪkt] одураченный

trickle ['trɪkl] течь

trick [trɪk] 1) шутка 2) подшучивать, насмехаться

trip [trɪp] 1) поездка, командировка 2) спотыкаться

triumph ['traɪǝmf] триумф

triumphant [traɪ'ʌmfǝnt] победоносный

triumphantly [traɪ'ʌmfǝntli] победоносно

trivial ['trɪviǝl] тривиальный

troop [tru:p] группа

tropical ['trɒpɪkl] тропический

trouble ['trʌbl] 1) проблема; беспокойство 2) волновать

trousers ['traʊzǝrz] штаны

true [tru:] 1) настоящий 2) верный

trumpet ['trʌmpɪt] 1) труба 2) трубить; громко звучать

trust [trʌst] 1) доверять 2) доверие

truth [tru:θ] правда

try [traɪ] 1) пытаться 2) попытка

trying ['traɪɪŋ] 1) пытающийся 2) Ving от try

tube [tju:b] труба

θuesday ['tju:zdeɪ] вторник

tug [tʌg] тянуть

tumble ['tʌmbl] падать

tune [tju:n] 1) мелодия 2) настраиваться на

tunic ['tju:nɪk] рубашка

tunnel ['tʌnǝl] тоннель

turkey ['tæ:ki] индейка

turn [tæ:n] 1) поворачиваться 2) поворот

turquoise ['tæ:rkwɔɪz] бирюзовый

twangling ['twæŋlɪŋ] дребезжащий

twelfth [twelfθ] двендацатый

twelve [twelv] 1) двенадцать 2) θwelve-in-ɔne двенадцать в одном

twenty ['twentɪ] двадцать

twenty-fifth ['twenti fɪfθ] двадцать пятый

twenty-five ['twenti faɪv] двадцать пять

twenty-four ['twenti fɔ:] двадцать четыре

twenty-one ['twenti wʌn] двадцать один

twenty-seventh ['twenti 'sevnθ] двадцать седьмой

twenty-three ['twenti θri:] двадцать три

twenty-two ['twenti tu:] двадцать два

twice [twaɪs] дважды

twilight ['twaɪ,laɪt] сумерки

twin [twɪn] 1) близнец 2) идентичный

twinge [twɪnʤ] угрызение, приступ

twist [twɪst] 1) искривлять 2) перевирать

twisted ['twɪstɪd] скрученный

twitch [twɪʧ] дергаться

twitching ['twɪʧɪŋ] дергающийся

two [tu:] два

typhoid ['taɪfɔɪd] тиф

ugliness ['ʌglɪnɪs] уродство

ugly ['ʌglɪ] уродливый

ultimate ['ʌltɪmǝt] наиболее важный

unanimity [,ju:nǝ'nɪmǝti] единогласие

unanimously [ju:'nænɪmǝsli] единогласно

unaware [,ʌnǝ'weǝ] быть в неведении

unawareness [,ʌnǝ'weǝnǝs] неведение

unbuckle [ʌn'bʌkl] расстегивать

unceasingly [ʌn'si:sɪŋli] неумолимо

uncertain [ʌn'sæ:tǝn] неуверенный

uncertainty [ʌn'sæ:tnti] неизвестность

unchecked [ʌn'ʧekt] беспрепятственный

uncoil [ʌn'kɔɪl] развертывать

uncomfortable [ʌn'kʌmfǝtǝbl] неудобный

uncomfortably [ʌn'kʌmfǝtǝbli] неудобно, неловко

uncomprehending [,ʌn,kɒmprɪ'hendɪŋ] непонимающий

uncomprehendingly [,ʌn,kɒmprɪ'hendɪŋli] непонимающе

uncontrollably [,ʌnkǝn'trǝʊlǝbli] безудержно

uncover [ʌn'kʌvǝ] открывать

undefiled [,ʌndɪ'faɪld] неиспорченный

under ['ʌndǝ] под

underclothing ['ʌndǝ,klǝʊðɪŋ] нижнее белье

under-consumption ['ʌndǝ kǝn'sʌmpʃn] недопотребление

undergarment ['ʌndǝ,gɑ:mǝnt] нижнее белье

undergo [,ʌndǝr'gǝʊ] проходить, подвергаться

underground ['ʌndǝr,graʊnd] подземный

underline [,ʌndǝr'laɪn] подчеркивать

under-production ['ʌndǝ prǝ'dʌkʃǝn] недопроизводство

understand [,ʌndǝ'stænd] понимать

understanding [ʌndǝ'standɪŋ] 1) понимание 2) понимающий

understood [,ʌndǝ'stʊd] прош. вр., прич. прош. вр. от understand

undeterred [,ʌndɪ'tæ:rd] не останавливающийся

undisturbed [,ʌndɪ'stæ:rbd] непотревоженный

undo [ʌn'du:] отменять, возвращать

undone [ʌn'dʌn] расстегнутый

undress [ʌn'dres] раздеваться

uneasily [ʌn'i:zɪlɪ] беспокойно

uneasy [ʌn'i:zɪ] неловкий

unescapable [,ʌnɪs'keɪpǝbl] неизбежный

unescapably [,ʌnɪs'keɪpǝbli] неизбежно

uneventful [,ʌnɪ'ventfǝl] обычный, однообразный

unexhausting [,ʌnɪg'zɔ:stɪŋ] простой

unexpected [ʌnɪk'spektɪd] неожиданный

unexpectedly [,ʌnɪk'spektɪdlɪ] неожиданно

unfair [ʌn'feǝr] нечестный

unfinished [ʌn'fɪnɪʃt] незаконченный

unhappiness [ʌn'hæpɪnǝs] несчастье

unhappy [ʌn'hæpɪ] несчастливый

uniform ['ju:nɪfɔ:m] форма

union ['ju:njǝn] союз

unique [ju:'ni:k] уникальный

unison ['ju:nɪsǝn] унисон

universal [,ju:nɪ'væ:rsǝl] универсальный

universe ['ju:nɪ,væ:rs] вселенная

unkindness [ʌn'kaɪndnǝs] бессердечие

unless [ǝn'les] если не, пока не

unload [ʌn'lǝʊd] выгружать

unlock [ʌn'lɒk] отпирать

unoccupied [ʌn'ɒkjʊpaɪd] незанятый

unorthodox [ʌn'ɔ:rθǝdɒks] нетрадиционный

unorthodoxy [ʌn'ɔ:rθǝdɒksi] нетрадиционность

unpleasant [ʌn'plezǝnt] неприятный

unprecedentedly [ʌn'presɪdǝntɪdli] беспрецендентно

unreality [,ʌnrɪ'ælǝti] нереальность

unrelated [,ʌnrɪ'leɪtɪd] не имеющий отношения к чему-либо

unresponsive [,ʌnrɪ'spɒnsɪv] нереагирующий

unrest [ʌn'rest] беспорядок

unrestricted [ʌnrɪ'strɪktɪd] неограниченный

unrotted [,ʌn'rɒtɪd] не тронутый гнилью

unsatisfactory [,ʌn,sætɪs'fæktǝri] неудовлетворительный

unsavoury [ʌn'seɪvǝri] сомнительный

unseen [ʌn'si:n] невидимый

unsmiling [ʌn'smaɪlɪŋ] не улыбаясь

unspeakable [ʌn'spi:kǝbl] невыразимый

unspoken [ʌn'spǝʊkǝn] негласный

unstable [ʌn'steɪbl] нестабильный

unsteadiness [ʌn'stedɪnǝs] нестабильность

unsterilized [,ʌn'sterɪlaɪzd] нестерилизованный

untended [,ʌn'tendɪd] оставленный без присмотра

until [ǝn'tɪl] до тех пор пока не

untwine [ʌn'twaɪn] размытывать

unutterable [ʌn'ʌtǝrǝbl] непроизносимый

unvarying [,ʌn'veǝriɪŋ] неизменный

unwind [ʌn'waɪnd] разматывать

unworthy [ʌn'wæ:rði] недостойный

up [ʌp] вверх

uphill ['ʌphɪl] в горку

upon [ǝ'pɒn] = on

upper ['ʌpǝ] верхний

upper-caste ['ʌpǝkɑ:st] принадлежащий к высшей касте

uproar ['ʌp,rɔ:] шум

upset [ʌp'set] 1) разочарованный 2) побеждать 3) разочарование

upstairs [ʌp'steǝz] вверх по лестнице, наверху

upwards ['ʌpwǝdz] наверх

urge [æ:ʤ] побуждать

urgent ['æ:rʤǝnt] срочный

us [ʌs] нас, нам

use [ju:z] использовать

useful ['ju:sfǝl] полезный

useless ['ju:slǝs] бесполезный

usher ['ʌʃǝr] вести

usual ['ju:ʒǝl] обычный

usurp [jʊ'sǝ:p] узурпировать

utter ['ʌtǝ] 1) полный 2) произносить

utterly ['ʌtǝlɪ] крайне

vacuum ['vækjʊǝm] 1) вакуум 2) vacuum cleaner пылесос

vague [veɪg] неопределённый

vaguely [veɪglɪ] смутно

vain [veɪn] тщеславный

valley ['vælɪ] долина

vaporization [,veɪpǝraɪ'zeɪʃn] пар

vapour ['veɪpǝr] пар

variety [vǝ'raɪǝti] разнообразие

various ['veǝrɪǝs] различный

vault ['vɔ:lt] выпрыгивать

veil [veɪl] вуаль

vein [veɪn] вена

velveteen ['velvɪ'ti:n] вельветовый

vengeance ['venʤǝns] месть

venomous ['venǝmǝs] ядовитый

vent [vent] высказывать

ventilator ['ventɪleɪtǝ] вентилятор

verdict ['vǝ:dɪkt] вердикт

vermin ['væ:rmɪn] вредитель

vertical ['væ:rtɪkl] вертикальный

vertically ['væ:rtɪkli] вертикально

very ['verɪ] очень

vestal ['vestl] девственный, чистый

vestibule ['vestɪbju:l] вестибюль

vibrant ['vaɪbrǝnt] яркий

vibro-vac [vaɪ'brǝʊvæk] сокр. vibro-vacuum

vibro-vacuum [vaɪ'brǝʊ vækjʊǝm] вибро-вакуумный

vice [vaɪs] грех

vicious ['vɪʃǝs] порочный

victim ['vɪktɪm] жертва

view [vju:] 1) взгляд; вид 2) смотреть

village ['vɪlɪʤ] деревня

violence ['vaɪǝlǝns] насилие, жестокость

violent ['vaɪǝlǝnt] насильственный, жестокий

violently ['vaɪǝlǝntlɪ] яростно, жестоко

violet ['vaɪǝlǝt] фиолетовый

virgin ['væ:rʤɪn] 1) девственница, девственник 2) девственный

virtue ['væ:rʧu:] добродетель

virtuous ['væ:rʧʊǝs] добродетельный

viscose ['vɪskǝʊs] 1) вискоза 2) сделанный из вискозы

visible ['vɪzǝbl] видимый

visit ['vɪzɪt] 1) визит 2) навещать

vivid ['vɪvɪd] яркий

viviparous [vɪ'vɪpǝrǝs] живородящий

voice [vɔɪs] 1) голос 2) озвучивать

volt [vǝʊlt] вольт

volume ['vɒlju:m] громкость

vow [vau] 1) клятва, обет 2) клясться

wag [wæg] вилять

wail [weɪl] 1) стенания 2) стенать

waist [weɪst] талия

wait [weɪt] ждать

wake [weɪk] 1) последствия 2) просыпаться

wakeful ['weɪkfǝl] бодрствущий

wakened ['weɪkǝnd] разбуженный

walk [wɔ:k] 1) идти 2) прогулка

wall [wɔ:l] стена

wander ['wɒndǝ] прохаживаться

wandering ['wɒndǝrɪŋ] прогулка

want [wɒnt] хотеть

wanton ['wɒntǝn] распутный

war [wɔ:] война

ward [wɔ:d] подопечный

warden ['wɔ:dǝn] смотритель

warm [wɔ:m] 1) тёплый 2) греть

warmed [wɔ:md] подогретый

warmer ['wɔ:mǝ] срав. ст. от warm

warmly ['wɔ:mlɪ] тепло

warmth [wɔ:mθ] тепло, сердечность

warn [wɔ:n] предупреждать

warning ['wɔ:nɪŋ] предупреждение

was [wɒz] 1 и 3 л. ед. прош. вр. от гл. be

wash [wɒʃ] мыть

waste [weɪst] 1) отходы 2) тратить впустую

watch [wɒʧ] 1) смотреть 2) осторожнее 3) часы

water ['wɔ:tǝ] 1) вода 2) поливать

wave [weɪv] 1) волна 2) махать

waver ['weɪvǝ] колыхаться

way [weɪ] путь

we [wi:] мы

weakness ['wi:knɪs] слабость

weapon ['wepǝn] оружие

wear [weǝ] носить

weariness ['wɪǝrɪnɪs] усталость

weary ['wɪǝri] усталый

weather ['weðǝ] погода

weed [wi:d] трава

week [wi:k] неделя

weekend [,wi:k'end] выходные дни

weep [wi:p] рыдать

weird [wɪǝd] странный

welcome ['welkǝm] добро пожаловать!

well [wel] 1) хорошо 2) to well up накапливаться

well-aimed [wel eɪmd] хорошо прицеленный

well-being [wel 'bi:ɪŋ] благополучие

went [went] прош. вр. от go

were [wǝ] мн.ч. прош. вр. от be

West [west] 1) запад 2) западный

Western ['westǝn] западный

wet [wet] мокрый

whale ['weɪl] кит

what [wɒt] что

whatever [wɒt'evǝ] какой бы ни

wheat [wi:t] пшеничный

wheel [wi:l] 1) колесо 2) катить

when [wen] когда

whence [wens] устар. когда

whenever [wen'evǝ] в любое время

where [weǝ] куда, где

whereas [weǝr'æz] в то время как

whether ['weðǝ] ли

which [wɪʧ] который

whichever [wɪʧ'evǝr] какой бы ни

while [waɪl] пока

whip [wɪp] 1) кнут, бич 2) бить кнутом

whipping ['wɪpɪŋ] бичевание

whirl [wæ:l] вращаться

whisk [wɪsk] тащить

whisper ['wɪspǝ] 1) шёпот 2) шептать

whispering ['wɪspǝrɪŋ] шепот

whistle ['wɪsl] 1) свистеть 2) свист

white [waɪt] белый

whittle ['wɪtl] строгать

who [hu:] кто

whole [hǝʊl] весь

whom [hu:m] кого, кому

whore [hɔ:] шлюха

whose [hu:z] чей

why [waɪ] почему

wicked ['wɪkɪd] грешный

wickedness ['wɪkɪdnɪs] порок

wide [waɪd] 1) широкий 2) широко

wider ['waɪdǝ] срав. ст. оn wide

wild [waɪld] 1) дикий 2) wild-eyed с дикими глазами

will [wɪl] вспом. гл. для буд. вр.

wince [wɪns] вздрогнуть, морщиться

wincing ['wɪnsɪŋ] содрогающийся

wind [wɪnd] ветер

windless ['wɪndlɪs] без ветра

window ['wɪndǝʊ] окно

winning ['wɪnɪŋ] победоносный

winter ['wɪntǝ] зима

wipe [waɪp] вытирать, стирать

wire ['waɪǝ] электрический провод

wireless ['waɪǝrlǝs] беспроводной

wish [wɪʃ] 1) желание 2) желать 3) жаль

wisp [wɪsp] прядка

with [wɪð] с

within [wɪ'ðɪn] в, внутри

without [wɪ'ðaʊt] без

woke [wǝʊk] прош. вр. от wake

woken ['wǝʊkǝn] прич. прош. вр. от wake

wolf [wʊlf] волк

woman ['wʊmǝn] женщина

womb [wu:m] матка

wonder ['wʌndǝ] 1) чудо 2) интересоваться, размышлять, задаваться вопросом

wondered ['wʌndǝ] интересоваться

wonderful ['wʌndǝfǝl] чудесный

wonderfully ['wʌndǝfǝli] чудесно

wood [wud] дерево; лес

wooden ['wʊdǝn] деревянный

wool [wʊl] шерсть

word [wæ:d] слово

wordless ['wæ:dlɪs] молчаливый

wore [wɔ:] прош. вр. от wear

work [wæ:k] 1) работа 2) работать

worker ['wæ:rkǝr] рабочий

working ['wæ:rkɪŋ] 1) рабочий 2) Ving от work

world [wæ:ld] мир

worse [wæ:s] сравн. ст. от bad

worship ['wæ:rʃɪp] поклонение

worth [wæ:rθ] ценность

worthy ['wæ:rði] достойный

wound [wu:nd] 1) ранить 2) рана

wrestle ['resl] бороться

wrestling ['reslɪŋ] 1) Ving от wrestle 2) борьба

wretched ['reʧɪd] несчастный, гнусный

wriggle ['rɪgl] извиваться

wrinkled ['rɪŋkld] морщинистый

wrinkle ['rɪŋkl] складка

wrist [rɪst] запястье

write [raɪt] писать

writer ['raɪtǝ] писатель

writhe [raɪð] корчиться от боли

writhing ['raɪðɪŋ] извивающийся

writing ['raɪtɪŋ] 1) письмо 2) V-ing от writer

writing-table ['raɪtɪŋ,teɪbl] письменный стол

written ['rɪtǝn] прич. прош. вр. от write

wrong [rɒŋ] неверный

wrote [rǝʊt] прош. вр. от write

X-ray ['eks'reɪ] рентген

yard [jɑ:d] ярд

year [jɪǝ] год

yearning ['jæ:rnɪŋ] томящийся, тоскующий

yell [jel] кричать

yelling [jelɪŋ] 1) крик 2) Ving от yell

yellow ['jelǝʊ] жёлтый

yelping ['jelpɪŋ] повизгивание

yelp [jelp] визг

yes [jes] да

yesterday ['jestǝdeɪ] вчера

yet [jet] ещё, уже

you [ju:] вы, ты, вас, вам, тебя, тобой, тебе

young [jʌŋ] молодой

your [jɔ:] ваш, твой

yourself [jɔ:'self] 1) себя, себе, собой 2) сам, сама; сами

youth [ju:θ] молодость, молодежь

youthful ['ju:θfǝl] молодой

zigzag ['zɪgzæg] делать зигзаги

zip [zɪp] закрыть, застегнуть

zipper ['zɪpǝ] молния

zippicamiknicks [zɪpɪ'kæmɪnɪks] нижнее белье, комбинация

zone [zǝʊn] зона