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192 pages, Paperback
First published October 1, 1967
“The surgeon hesitated before opening the door. ‘Look,’ he began to explain ‘you can't get out of time, can you?’ Subjectively it's a plastic dimension, but whatever you do to yourself you'll never be able to stop that clock’- he pointed to the one on the desk-"or make it run backwards. In exactly the same way you can't get out of the City."
‘The analogy doesn't hold,’ M. said. He gestured at the walls around them and the lights in the streets outside. ‘All this was built by us. The question nobody can answer is: what was here before we built it?’ “
“Handling him roughly, she bundled Freeman into his cot and secured him under the blankets. Downstairs he could hear her moving about rapidly, apparently preparing for some emergency. Propelled by an uncharacteristic urgency, she was closing the windows and doors. As he listened to her, Freeman noticed how cold he felt. His small body was swaddled like a new-born infant in a mass of shawls, but his bones were like sticks of ice. A curious drowsiness was coming over him, draining away his anger and fear, and the centre of his awareness was shifting from his eyes to his skin. The thin afternoon light stung his eyes, and as they closed he slipped off into a blurring limbo of shallow sleep, the tender surface of his body aching for relief.”
“ 'As I was saying, Doctor, you have so many patients, all wearing the same uniforms, housed in the same wards, and by and large prescribed the same treatment – is it surprising that they should lose their individual identities? If I may make a small confession,’ he added with a roguish smile. ‘ I myself find that All the patients look alike. Why, if Dr. Norm and or yourself informed me that a new patient by the name of Smith or Brown had arrived, I would automatically furnish him with the standard uniform of identity at Green Hill – those same lustreless eyes and slack mouth, the same amorphous features.’”
“The ability to react to stimuli, even irrationally, was a valid criterion of freedom. By contrast, what freedom Franklin possessed was peripheral, sharply demarked by the manifold responsibilities in the center of his life-the three mortgages on his home, the mandatory rounds of cocktail and TV parties, the private consultancy occupying most of Saturday which paid the instalments on the multitude of household gadgets, clothes and past holidays. About the only time he had to himself was driving to and from work.”