Chapter 6

           Winstonwaswritinginhisdiary: 

           Itwasthreeyearsago. Itwasonadarkevening,inanarrowside-streetnearoneofthebigrailwaystations. Shewasstandingnearadoorwayinthewall,underastreetlampthathardlygaveanylight. Shehadayoungface,paintedverythick. Itwasreallythepaintthatappealedtome,thewhitenessofit,likeamask,andthebrightredlips. Partywomenneverpainttheirfaces. Therewasnobodyelseinthestreet,andnotelescreens. Shesaidtwodollars.I—— 

           Forthemomentitwastoodifficulttogoon. Heshuthiseyesandpressedhisfingersagainstthem,tryingtosqueezeoutthevisionthatkeptrecurring. Hehadanalmostoverwhelmingtemptationtoshoutastringoffilthywordsatthetopofhisvoice. Ortobanghisheadagainstthewall,tokickoverthetable,andhurltheinkpotthroughthewindow—todoanyviolentornoisyorpainfulthingthatmightblackoutthememorythatwastormentinghim. 

           Yourworstenemy,hereflected,wasyourownnervoussystem. Atanymomentthetensioninsideyouwasliabletotranslateitselfintosomevisiblesymptom. Hethoughtofamanwhomhehadpassedinthestreetafewweeksback; aquiteordinary-lookingman,aPartymember,agedthirty-fivetoforty,tallishandthin,carryingabrief-case. Theywereafewmetresapartwhentheleftsideoftheman’sfacewassuddenlycontortedbyasortofspasm. Ithappenedagainjustastheywerepassingoneanother: itwasonlyatwitch,aquiver,rapidastheclickingofacamerashutter,butobviouslyhabitual.