‘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 any more? 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?

With an infinity of precautions 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, listening; then darted to the front door, opened, slipped through, slammed, ran. It was not till she was in the lift and actually dropping down the well that she began to feel herself secure.