By Aldous Huxley
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Additional info for Island (P.S.)
And if the gangster liked pretty boys, that was his. And perhaps, Will went on to reflect, that was why Colonel Dipa had refrained from making a formal introduction. "This is Muru" was all he had said when the boy was ushered into the presidential office. "My young friend Muru," and he had risen, had put his arm around the boy's shoulders, had led him to the sofa and sat down beside him. " Murugan had asked. The dictator had smiled indulgently and nodded his sleek black head. And that was another reason for thinking that more than mere friendliness was involved in that curious relationship.
Time to get dressed. Mustn't be late at the office. "Thank you, darling," he said and sat up. A sharp pain stabbed at his right knee and there were other kinds of pain in his back, his arms, his forehead. "Attention," the voice insisted without the slightest change of tone. Leaning on one elbow, Will looked about him and saw with bewilderment, not the gray wallpaper and yellow curtains of his London bedroom, but a glade among trees and the long shadows and slanting lights of early morning in a forest.
My young friend Muru," and he had risen, had put his arm around the boy's shoulders, had led him to the sofa and sat down beside him. " Murugan had asked. The dictator had smiled indulgently and nodded his sleek black head. And that was another reason for thinking that more than mere friendliness was involved in that curious relationship. At the wheel of the Colonel's sports car Murugan was a maniac. Only an infatuated lover would have entrusted himself, not to mention his guest, to such a chauffeur.