1984

           ‘Four.’ 

           Theneedlewentuptosixty. 

           ‘Howmanyfingers,Winston?’ 

           ‘Four!Four!WhatelsecanIsay?Four!’ 

           Theneedlemusthaverisenagain,buthedidnotlookatit. Theheavy,sternfaceandthefourfingersfilledhisvision. Thefingersstoodupbeforehiseyeslikepillars,enormous,blurry,andseemingtovibrate,butunmistakablyfour. 

           ‘Howmanyfingers,Winston?’ 

           ‘Four!Stopit,stopit!Howcanyougoon?Four!Four!’ 

           ‘Howmanyfingers,Winston?’ 

           ‘Five!Five!Five!’ 

           ‘No,Winston,thatisnouse.Youarelying. Youstillthinktherearefour. Howmanyfingers,please?’ 

           ‘Four!five!Four!Anythingyoulike.Onlystopit,stopthepain!’ 

           AbruptlyhewassittingupwithO’Brien’sarmroundhisshoulders. Hehadperhapslostconsciousnessforafewseconds. Thebondsthathadheldhisbodydownwereloosened. Hefeltverycold,hewasshakinguncontrollably,histeethwerechattering,thetearswererollingdownhischeeks. ForamomentheclungtoO’Brienlikeababy,curiouslycomfortedbytheheavyarmroundhisshoulders.