Henry Swinton caught the express home in high spirits, and occasionally said a word to the synthetic serving-man he was taking home with him. The serving-man answered politely and punctually, although his answers were not always entirely relevant by human standards. The Swintons lived in one of the ritziest city-blocks, half a kilometer above the ground. At once, Henry was sur-rounded by the friendly illusion of gardens set in eternal summer. It was amazing what Whologram could do to create huge mirages in small spaces.
Roses occasionally suffer from black spot.
He opened the door and called to Monica. She came out of the sitting-room immediately and flung her arms round him, kissing him ardently on cheek and lips. Henry was amazed. Pulling back to look at her face, he saw how she seemed to generate light and beauty. It was months since he had seen her so excited.