1984

           ‘Doyouknowwhattimeofdayitis?’hesaid. 

           Ampleforthlookedstartledagain. ‘Ihadhardlythoughtaboutit. Theyarrestedme—itcouldbetwodaysago—perhapsthree. ’Hiseyesflittedroundthewalls,asthoughhehalfexpectedtofindawindowsomewhere. ‘Thereisnodifferencebetweennightanddayinthisplace. Idonotseehowonecancalculatethetime.’ 

           Theytalkeddesultorilyforsomeminutes,then,withoutapparentreason,ayellfromthetelescreenbadethembesilent. Winstonsatquietly,hishandscrossed. Ampleforth,toolargetositincomfortonthenarrowbench,fidgetedfromsidetoside,claspinghislankhandsfirstroundoneknee,thenroundtheother. Thetelescreenbarkedathimtokeepstill. Timepassed. Twentyminutes,anhour—itwasdifficulttojudge. Oncemoretherewasasoundofbootsoutside. Winston’sentrailscontracted. Soon,verysoon,perhapsinfiveminutes,perhapsnow,thetrampofbootswouldmeanthathisownturnhadcome. 

           Thedooropened. Thecold-facedyoungofficersteppedintothecell. WithabriefmovementofthehandheindicatedAmpleforth. 

           ‘Room101,’hesaid. 

           Ampleforthmarchedclumsilyoutbetweentheguards,hisfacevaguelyperturbed,butuncomprehending. 

           Whatseemedlikealongtimepassed. ThepaininWinston’sbellyhadrevived. Hismindsaggedroundandroundonthesametrick,likeaballfallingagainandagainintothesameseriesofslots.