Part 2

           Itwasthemiddleofthemorning,andWinstonhadleftthecubicletogotothelavatory. 

           Asolitaryfigurewascomingtowardshimfromtheotherendofthelong,brightly-litcorridor. Itwasthegirlwithdarkhair. Fourdayshadgonepastsincetheeveningwhenhehadrunintoheroutsidethejunk-shop. Asshecamenearerhesawthatherrightarmwasinasling,notnoticeableatadistancebecauseitwasofthesamecolourasheroveralls. Probablyshehadcrushedherhandwhileswingingroundoneofthebigkaleidoscopesonwhichtheplotsofnovelswere‘roughedin’. ItwasacommonaccidentintheFictionDepartment. 

           Theywereperhapsfourmetresapartwhenthegirlstumbledandfellalmostflatonherface. Asharpcryofpainwaswrungoutofher.Shemusthavefallenrightontheinjuredarm. Winstonstoppedshort. Thegirlhadrisentoherknees. Herfacehadturnedamilkyyellowcolouragainstwhichhermouthstoodoutredderthanever. Hereyeswerefixedonhis,withanappealingexpressionthatlookedmorelikefearthanpain. 

           AcuriousemotionstirredinWinston’sheart. Infrontofhimwasanenemywhowastryingtokillhim: infrontofhim,also,wasahumancreature,inpainandperhapswithabrokenbone. Alreadyhehadinstinctivelystartedforwardtohelpher. Inthemomentwhenhehadseenherfallonthebandagedarm,ithadbeenasthoughhefeltthepaininhisownbody. 

           ‘You’rehurt?’hesaid. 

           ‘It’snothing.Myarm.It’llbeallrightinasecond.’