1984

           Therewassomethingthathelacked: discretion,aloofness,asortofsavingstupidity. Youcouldnotsaythathewasunorthodox. HebelievedintheprinciplesofIngsoc,heveneratedBigBrother,herejoicedovervictories,hehatedheretics, notmerelywithsinceritybutwithasortofrestlesszeal,anup-to-datenessofinformation,whichtheordinaryPartymemberdidnotapproach. Yetafaintairofdisreputabilityalwaysclungtohim. Hesaidthingsthatwouldhavebeenbetterunsaid,hehadreadtoomanybooks,hefrequentedtheChestnutTreeCafe,hauntofpaintersandmusicians. Therewasnolaw,notevenanunwrittenlaw,againstfrequentingtheChestnutTreeCafe,yettheplacewassomehowill-omened. Theold,discreditedleadersofthePartyhadbeenusedtogathertherebeforetheywerefinallypurged. Goldsteinhimself,itwassaid,hadsometimesbeenseenthere,yearsanddecadesago. Syme’sfatewasnotdifficulttoforesee. Andyetitwasafact thatifSymegrasped,evenforthreeseconds,thenatureofhis,Winston’s,secretopinions,hewouldbetrayhiminstantlytotheThoughtPolice. Sowouldanybodyelse,forthatmatter: butSymemorethanmost. Zealwasnotenough. Orthodoxywasunconsciousness. 

           Symelookedup. ‘HerecomesParsons,’hesaid. 

           Somethinginthetoneofhisvoiceseemedtoadd,‘thatbloodyfool’. Parsons,Winston’sfellow-tenantatVictoryMansions,wasinfactthreadinghiswayacrosstheroom— atubby,middle-sizedmanwithfairhairandafroglikeface. Atthirty-fivehewasalreadyputtingonrollsoffatatneckandwaistline,buthismovementswerebriskandboyish. Hiswholeappearancewasthatofalittleboygrownlarge, somuchsothatalthoughhewaswearingtheregulationoveralls,itwasalmostimpossiblenottothinkofhimasbeingdressedintheblueshorts,greyshirt,andredneckerchiefoftheSpies.