1984

           ‘Wassyourname,dearie?’shesaid. 

           ‘Smith,’saidWinston. 

           ‘Smith?’saidthewoman. ‘Thassfunny. Myname’sSmithtoo. Why,’sheaddedsentimentally,‘Imightbeyourmother!’ 

           Shemight,thoughtWinston,behismother. Shewasabouttherightageandphysique,anditwasprobablethatpeoplechangedsomewhataftertwentyyearsinaforced-labourcamp. 

           Nooneelsehadspokentohim. ToasurprisingextenttheordinarycriminalsignoredthePartyprisoners. ‘ThepolITS,’theycalledthem,withasortofuninterestedcontempt. ThePartyprisonersseemedterrifiedofspeakingtoanybody,andaboveallofspeakingtooneanother. Onlyonce,whentwoPartymembers,bothwomen,werepressedclosetogetheronthebench,heoverheardamidthedinofvoicesafewhurriedly-whisperedwords;andinparticularareferencetosomethingcalled‘roomone-oh-one’,whichhedidnotunderstand. 

           Itmightbetwoorthreehoursagothattheyhadbroughthimhere. Thedullpaininhisbellyneverwentaway,butsometimesitgrewbetterandsometimesworse,andhisthoughtsexpandedorcontractedaccordingly. Whenitgrewworsehethoughtonlyofthepainitself,andofhisdesireforfood. Whenitgrewbetter,panictookholdofhim. Thereweremomentswhenheforesawthethingsthatwouldhappentohimwithsuchactualitythathisheartgallopedandhisbreathstopped. Hefeltthesmashoftruncheonsonhiselbowsandiron-shodbootsonhisshins; hesawhimselfgrovellingonthefloor,screamingformercythroughbrokenteeth.