And in front ofhim there lay not death but
annihilation.
The pastwas dead, the future was
unimaginable.
Parsons was Winstons fellow-employee at the
Ministry of Truth. He dipped the pen into the ink and then faltered for just
asecond. He could not help feeling a twinge of panic.
But even that was a memorable event, in the locked
loneliness inwhich one had to live. It was not by making yourself heard but by
staying sane that you carried onthe human heritage. For the first time the magnitude
of what he hadundertaken came home to him. The idea of following up theirmomentary
contact hardly crossed his mind. For some reason the telescreen in the living-room
was in an unusualposition.
However, in his present position hewas invisible.
The music from the telescreen hadstopped.
The little sandy-haired woman gave a squeak of
mingled fear anddisgust.
About twenty or thirty of them a week were falling
on London atpresent. He had carried it guiltily homein his briefcase. A newsflash
has this moment arrivedfrom the Malabar front.
He took a chair in the same row as Winston, a
couple of places away.
That was all, and he was already uncertain whether
it had happened. Suddenly he began writing in sheer panic, only imperfectly aware of
whathe was setting down. But at any rate they could plug in your wire whenever they
wantedto.
Winston fitted a nib intothe penholder and sucked
it to get the grease off. He would flog her to death with a rubber
truncheon.
People referred to it, if at all, simply as THE
BOOK. The idea of following up theirmomentary contact hardly crossed his
mind.
He dislikednearly all women, and especially the
young and pretty ones. It was apparentthat she was uttering a prayer. Even with
nothing written in it, it was a compromisingpossession. His heart quailed before the
enormous pyramidal shape. He gotup and moved heavily towards the door.
Ill shoot you, Ill vaporize you, Ill send you to
the saltmines!