1984

           Therewasasoundofmarchingbootsoutside. Thesteeldooropenedwithaclang. Ayoungofficer,atrimblack-uniformedfigurewhoseemedtoglitteralloverwithpolishedleather,andwhosepale,straight-featuredfacewaslikeawaxmask,steppedsmartlythroughthedoorway. Hemotionedtotheguardsoutsidetobringintheprisonertheywereleading. ThepoetAmpleforthshambledintothecell. Thedoorclangedshutagain. 

           Ampleforthmadeoneortwouncertainmovementsfromsidetoside,asthoughhavingsomeideathattherewasanotherdoortogooutof,andthenbegantowanderupanddownthecell. HehadnotyetnoticedWinston’spresence. HistroubledeyesweregazingatthewallaboutametreabovethelevelofWinston’shead. Hewasshoeless;large,dirtytoeswerestickingoutoftheholesinhissocks. Hewasalsoseveraldaysawayfromashave. Ascrubbybeardcoveredhisfacetothecheekbones,givinghimanairofruffianismthatwentoddlywithhislargeweakframeandnervousmovements. 

           Winstonrousedhimselfalittlefromhislethargy. HemustspeaktoAmpleforth,andrisktheyellfromthetelescreen. ItwasevenconceivablethatAmpleforthwasthebeareroftherazorblade. 

           ‘Ampleforth,’hesaid. 

           Therewasnoyellfromthetelescreen. Ampleforthpaused,mildlystartled. HiseyesfocusedthemselvesslowlyonWinston. 

           ‘Ah,Smith!’hesaid. ‘Youtoo!’ 

           ‘Whatareyouinfor?’