1984

           ‘Youdidwelltotellme,’saidO’Brien. ‘Itisnecessaryforustoknoweverything.’ 

           HeturnedhimselftowardJuliaandaddedinavoicewithsomewhatmoreexpressioninit: 

           ‘Doyouunderstandthatevenifhesurvives,itmaybeasadifferentperson? Wemaybeobligedtogivehimanewidentity. Hisface,hismovements,theshapeofhishands,thecolourofhishair—evenhisvoicewouldbedifferent. Andyouyourselfmighthavebecomeadifferentperson. Oursurgeonscanalterpeoplebeyondrecognition. Sometimesitisnecessary. Sometimesweevenamputatealimb.’ 

           WinstoncouldnothelpsnatchinganothersidelongglanceatMartin’sMongolianface. Therewerenoscarsthathecouldsee. Juliahadturnedashadepaler,sothatherfreckleswereshowing,butshefacedO’Brienboldly. Shemurmuredsomethingthatseemedtobeassent. 

           ‘Good.Thenthatissettled.’ 

           Therewasasilverboxofcigarettesonthetable. Witharatherabsent-mindedairO’Brienpushedthemtowardstheothers,tookonehimself,thenstoodupandbegantopaceslowlytoandfro,asthoughhecouldthinkbetterstanding. Theywereverygoodcigarettes,verythickandwell-packed,withanunfamiliarsilkinessinthepaper. O’Brienlookedathiswrist-watchagain. 

           ‘YouhadbettergobacktoyourPantry,Martin,’hesaid. ‘Ishallswitchoninaquarterofanhour. Takeagoodlookatthesecomrades’facesbeforeyougo. Youwillbeseeingthemagain. Imaynot.’