theyhadvanishedforayearormore,sothatonedidnotknow whethertheywerealiveordead,andthenhadsuddenlybeen broughtforthtoincriminatethemselvesintheusualway.They hadconfessedtointelligencewiththeenemy(atthatdate,too, Nineteen eighty-four the enemy was Eurasia), embezzlement of public funds, the murderofvarioustrustedPartymembers,intriguesagainstthe leadership of Big Brother which had started long before the Revolution happened, and acts of sabotage causing the death George Orwell of hundreds of thousands of people. After confessing to these things they had been pardoned, reinstated in the Party, and given posts which were in fact sinecures but which sounded important. All three had written long, abject articles in ‘The Times’, analysing the reasons for their defection and promis- ingtomakeamends. Some time after their release Winston had actually seen all three of them in the Chestnut Tree Cafe. He remembered the sort of terrified fascination with which he had watched them outofthecornerofhiseye.Theyweremenfarolderthanhim- self,relicsoftheancientworld,almostthelastgreatfiguresleft overfromtheheroicdaysoftheParty.Theglamouroftheun- dergroundstruggleandthecivilwarstillfaintlyclungtothem. Hehadthefeeling,thoughalreadyatthattimefactsanddates were growing blurry, that he had known their names years earlier than he had known that of Big Brother. But also they were outlaws, enemies, untouchables, doomed with absolute certainty to extinction within a year or two. No one who had oncefallenintothehandsoftheThoughtPolice everescaped in the end. They were corpses waiting to be sent back to the grave. Therewasnooneatanyofthetablesnearesttothem.Itwas notwiseeventobeseenintheneighbourhoodofsuchpeople. Theyweresittinginsilencebeforeglassesoftheginflavoured with cloves which was the speciality of the cafe. Of the three, itwasRutherfordwhoseappearancehadmostimpressedWin- 1949 ston. Rutherford had once been a famous caricaturist, whose 80 provingthatpeopletodayhadmorefood,moreclothes,better houses, better recreations–that they lived longer, worked shorter hours, were bigger, healthier, stronger, happier, more intelligent, better educated, than the people of fifty years ago. Notawordofitcouldeverbeprovedordisproved.TheParty claimed, for example, that today 40 per cent of adult proles were literate: before the Revolution, it was said, the number had only been 15 per cent. The Party claimed that the infant mortalityratewasnowonly160perthousand,whereasbefore the Revolution it had been 300–and so it went on. It was like a single equation with two unknowns. It might very well be thatliterallyeverywordinthehistorybooks,eventhethings that one accepted without question, was pure fantasy. For all heknewtheremightneverhavebeenanysuchlawastheJUS PRIMAE NOCTIS, or any such creature as a capitalist, or any suchgarmentasatophat. Everythingfadedintomist.Thepastwaserased,theerasure wasforgotten,theliebecametruth.Justonceinhislifehehad possessed–AFTERtheevent:thatwaswhatcounted–concrete, unmistakable evidence of an act of falsification. He had held it between his fingers for as long as thirty seconds. In 1973, it must have been–at any rate, it was at about the time when heandKatharinehadparted.Butthereallyrelevantdatewas sevenoreightyearsearlier. Thestoryreallybeganinthemiddlesixties,theperiodofthe great purges in which the original leaders of the Revolution werewipedoutonceandforall.By1970noneofthemwasleft, exceptBigBrotherhimself.Alltheresthadbythattimebeen exposedastraitorsandcounter-revolutionaries.Goldsteinhad fled and was hiding no one knew where, and of the others, a fewhadsimplydisappeared,whilethemajorityhadbeenexe- cutedafterspectacularpublictrialsatwhichtheymadeconfes- sionoftheircrimes.Amongthelastsurvivorswerethreemen namedJones,Aaronson,andRutherford.Itmusthavebeenin 1965 that these three had been arrested. As often happened, 79 ing the Pope’s toe. There was also something called the JUS PRIMAENOCTIS,whichwouldprobablynotbementionedin atextbookforchildren.Itwasthelawbywhicheverycapital- ist had the right to sleep with any woman working in one of Contents hisfactories. How could you tell how much of it was lies? It MIGHT be true that the average human being was better off now than he had been before the Revolution. The only evidence to the PARTONE 5 contrarywasthemuteprotestinyourownbones,theinstinc- tive feeling that the conditions you lived in were intolerable Chapter1 6 and that at some other time they must have been different. It Chapter2 24 struckhimthatthetrulycharacteristicthingaboutmodernlife was not its cruelty and insecurity, but simply its bareness, its Chapter3 33 dinginess, its listlessness. Life, if you looked about you, bore no resemblance not only to the lies that streamed out of the Chapter4 42 telescreens, but even to the ideals that the Party was trying to achieve. Great areas of it, even for a Party member, were Chapter5 53 neutralandnon-political,amatterofsloggingthroughdreary jobs,fightingforaplaceontheTube,darningaworn-outsock, Chapter6 68 cadgingasaccharinetablet,savingacigaretteend.Theidealset Chapter7 74 upbythePartywassomethinghuge,terrible,andglittering–a world of steel and concrete, of monstrous machines and ter- Chapter8 86 rifying weapons–a nation of warriors and fanatics, marching forward in perfect unity, all thinking the same thoughts and shouting the same slogans, perpetually working, fighting, tri- PARTTWO 108 umphing, persecuting–three hundred million people all with thesameface.Therealitywasdecaying,dingycitieswhereun- Chapter1 109 derfedpeopleshuffledtoandfroinleakyshoes,inpatched-up nineteenth-century houses that smelt always of cabbage and Chapter2 121 bad lavatories. He seemed to see a vision of London, vast and Chapter3 131 ruinous, city of a million dustbins, and mixed up with it was a picture of Mrs Parsons, a woman with lined face and wispy Chapter4 141 hair,fiddlinghelplesslywithablockedwaste-pipe. He reached down and scratched his ankle again. Day Chapter5 152 and night the telescreens bruised your ears with statistics 78 3 Chapter6 162 Winston reached down and cautiously scratched his vari- coseulcer.Ithadbegunitchingagain.Thethingyouinvariably Chapter7 166 camebacktowastheimpossibilityofknowingwhatlifebefore theRevolutionhadreallybeenlike.Hetookoutofthedrawer Chapter8 174 acopyofachildren’shistorytextbookwhichhehadborrowed fromMrsParsons,andbegancopyingapassageintothediary: Chapter9 186 In the old days (it ran), before the glorious Revolution, London was not the beautiful city that we know today. It PARTTHREE 231 was a dark, dirty, miserable place where hardly anybody had enough to eat and where hundreds and thousands of poor Chapter1 232 people had no boots on their feet and not even a roof to sleep under. Children no older than you had to work twelve Chapter2 246 hours a day for cruel masters who flogged them with whips if they worked too slowly and fed them on nothing but stale Chapter3 267 breadcrusts and water. But in among all this terrible poverty there were just a few great big beautiful houses that were Chapter4 281 lived in by rich men who had as many as thirty servants to look after them. These rich men were called capitalists. They Chapter5 289 were fat, ugly men with wicked faces, like the one in the Chapter6 294 pictureontheoppositepage.Youcanseethatheisdressedin a long black coat which was called a frock coat, and a queer, shiny hat shaped like a stovepipe, which was called a top hat. APPENDIX. 305 This was the uniform of the capitalists, and no one else was allowed to wear it. The capitalists owned everything in the ThePrinciplesofNewspeak 306 world, and everyone else was their slave. They owned all the land, all the houses, all the factories, and all the money. If anyonedisobeyedthemtheycouldthrowthemintoprison,or they could take his job away and starve him to death. When anyordinarypersonspoketoacapitalisthehadtocringeand bow to him, and take off his cap and address him as ‘Sir’. The chiefofallthecapitalistswascalledtheKing,and—- Butheknewtherestofthecatalogue.Therewouldbemen- tion of the bishops in their lawn sleeves, the judges in their ermine robes, the pillory, the stocks, the treadmill, the cat-o’- nine tails, the Lord Mayor’s Banquet, and the practice of kiss- 4 77 lifethatappearedtobenaturaltothem,asortofancestralpat- tern.Theywereborn,theygrewupinthegutters,theywentto workattwelve,theypassedthroughabriefblossoming-period ofbeautyandsexualdesire,theymarriedattwenty,theywere middle-aged at thirty, they died, for the most part, at sixty. Heavy physical work, the care of home and children, petty quarrels with neighbours, films, football, beer, and above all, gambling, filled up the horizon of their minds. To keep them in control was not difficult. A few agents of the Thought Po- lice moved always among them, spreading false rumours and marking down and eliminating the few individuals who were judged capable of becoming dangerous; but no attempt was PART ONE made to indoctrinate them with the ideology of the Party. It was not desirable that the proles should have strong political feelings. All that was required of them was a primitive patri- otism which could be appealed to whenever it was necessary tomakethemacceptlongerworking-hoursorshorterrations. Andevenwhentheybecamediscontented,astheysometimes did,their discontentled nowhere,becausebeing without gen- eralideas,theycouldonlyfocusitonpettyspecificgrievances. The larger evils invariably escaped their notice. The great ma- jority of proles did not even have telescreens in their homes. Even the civil police interfered with them very little. There was a vast amount of criminality in London, a whole world- within-a-world of thieves, bandits, prostitutes, drug-peddlers, and racketeers of every description; but since it all happened among the proles themselves, it was of no importance. In all questions of morals they were allowed to follow their ances- tralcode.ThesexualpuritanismofthePartywasnotimposed uponthem.Promiscuitywentunpunished,divorcewaspermit- ted. For that matter, even religious worship would have been permittediftheproleshadshownanysignofneedingorwant- ingit.Theywerebeneathsuspicion.AsthePartysloganputit: ‘Prolesandanimalsarefree.’ 76 general despair broke down into a multitude of individual quarrels.Itappearedthatoneofthestallshadbeensellingtin saucepans. They were wretched, flimsy things, but cooking- pots of any kind were always difficult to get. Now the supply Chapter 1 had unexpectedly given out. The successful women, bumped and jostled by the rest, were trying to make off with their saucepans while dozens of others clamoured round the stall, It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were strik- accusing the stall-keeper of favouritism and of having more ingthirteen.WinstonSmith,hischinnuzzledintohisbreastin saucepanssomewhereinreserve.Therewasafreshoutburstof an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through the yells. Two bloated women, one of them with her hair coming glass doors of Victory Mansions, though not quickly enough down, had got hold of the same saucepan and were trying to topreventaswirlofgrittydustfromenteringalongwithhim. tear it out of one another’s hands. For a moment they were The hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and old rag mats. At bothtugging,andthenthehandlecameoff.Winstonwatched one end of it a coloured poster, too large for indoor display, them disgustedly. And yet, just for a moment, what almost had been tacked to the wall. It depicted simply an enormous frightening power had sounded in that cry from only a few face,morethanametrewide:thefaceofamanofaboutforty- hundredthroats!Whywas itthat theycould nevershout like five,withaheavyblackmoustacheandruggedlyhandsomefea- thataboutanythingthatmattered? tures.Winstonmadeforthestairs.Itwasnousetryingthelift. Hewrote: Evenatthebestoftimesitwasseldomworking,andatpresent Untiltheybecomeconscioustheywillneverrebel,anduntil the electric current was cut off during daylight hours. It was aftertheyhaverebelledtheycannotbecomeconscious. part of the economy drive in preparation for Hate Week. The That, he reflected, might almost have been a transcription flat was seven flights up, and Winston, who was thirty-nine fromoneofthePartytextbooks.ThePartyclaimed,ofcourse, and had a varicose ulcer above his right ankle, went slowly, to have liberated the proles from bondage. Before the Revolu- resting several times on the way. On each landing, opposite tiontheyhadbeenhideouslyoppressedbythecapitalists,they thelift-shaft,theposterwiththeenormousfacegazedfromthe hadbeenstarvedandflogged,womenhadbeenforcedtowork wall. It was one of those pictures which are so contrived that inthecoalmines(womenstilldidworkinthecoalmines,asa the eyes follow you about when you move. BIG BROTHER IS matteroffact),childrenhadbeensoldintothefactoriesatthe WATCHINGYOU,thecaptionbeneathitran. age of six. But simultaneously, true to the Principles of dou- Insidetheflatafruityvoicewasreadingoutalistoffigures blethink, the Party taught that the proles were natural inferi- which had something to do with the production of pig-iron. orswhomustbekeptinsubjection,likeanimals,bytheappli- Thevoicecamefromanoblongmetalplaquelikeadulledmir- cation of a few simple rules. In reality very little was known ror which formed part of the surface of the right-hand wall. abouttheproles.Itwasnotnecessarytoknowmuch.Solong Winstonturnedaswitchandthevoicesanksomewhat,though astheycontinuedtoworkandbreed,theirotheractivitieswere the words were still distinguishable. The instrument (the tele- withoutimportance.Lefttothemselves,likecattleturnedloose screen, it was called) could be dimmed, but there was no way upon the plains of Argentina, they had reverted to a style of 6 75 ofshuttingitoffcompletely.Hemovedovertothewindow:a smallish, frail figure, the meagreness of his body merely em- phasized by the blue overalls which were the uniform of the party. His hair was very fair, his face naturally sanguine, his Chapter 7 skinroughenedbycoarsesoapandbluntrazorbladesandthe coldofthewinterthathadjustended. Outside, even through the shut window-pane, the world ‘Ifthereishope,’wroteWinston,‘itliesintheproles.’ looked cold. Down in the street little eddies of wind were If there was hope, it MUST lie in the proles, because only whirling dust and torn paper into spirals, and though the sun thereinthoseswarmingdisregardedmasses,85percentofthe was shining and the sky a harsh blue, there seemed to be no populationofOceania,couldtheforcetodestroythePartyever colour in anything, except the posters that were plastered begenerated.ThePartycouldnotbeoverthrownfromwithin. everywhere. The black-moustachio’d face gazed down from Its enemies, if it had any enemies, had no way of coming to- every commanding corner. There was one on the house-front getherorevenofidentifyingoneanother.Evenifthelegendary immediately opposite. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU, Brotherhoodexisted,asjustpossiblyitmight,itwasinconceiv- the caption said, while the dark eyes looked deep into Win- able that its members could ever assemble in larger numbers ston’s own. Down at street level another poster, torn at one thantwosandthrees.Rebellionmeantalookintheeyes,anin- corner, flapped fitfully in the wind, alternately covering and flexionofthevoice,atthemost,anoccasionalwhisperedword. uncovering the single word INGSOC. In the far distance a Buttheproles,ifonlytheycouldsomehowbecomeconscious helicopter skimmed down between the roofs, hovered for an of their own strength. would have no need to conspire. They instantlikeabluebottle,anddartedawayagainwithacurving neededonlytoriseupandshakethemselveslikeahorseshak- flight.Itwasthepolicepatrol,snoopingintopeople’swindows. ingoffflies.IftheychosetheycouldblowthePartytopiecesto- The patrols did not matter, however. Only the Thought Police morrowmorning.Surelysoonerorlateritmustoccurtothem mattered. todoit?Andyet—-! Behind Winston’s back the voice from the telescreen was He remembered how once he had been walking down a still babbling away about pig-iron and the overfulfilment of crowded street when a tremendous shout of hundreds of the Ninth Three-Year Plan. The telescreen received and trans- voices women’s voices–had burst from a side-street a little mitted simultaneously. Any sound that Winston made, above wayahead.Itwasagreatformidablecryofangeranddespair, thelevelofaverylowwhisper,wouldbepickedupbyit,more- a deep, loud ‘Oh-o-o-o-oh!’ that went humming on like the over, so long as he remained within the field of vision which reverberation of a bell. His heart had leapt. It’s started! he themetalplaquecommanded,hecouldbeseenaswellasheard. had thought. A riot! The proles are breaking loose at last! Therewasofcoursenowayofknowingwhetheryouwerebe- When he had reached the spot it was to see a mob of two or ingwatchedatanygivenmoment.Howoften,oronwhatsys- three hundred women crowding round the stalls of a street tem,theThoughtPolicepluggedinonanyindividualwirewas market, with faces as tragic as though they had been the guesswork. It was even conceivable that they watched every- doomedpassengersonasinkingship.Butatthismomentthe bodyallthetime.Butatanyratetheycouldpluginyourwire 74 7 whenevertheywantedto.Youhadtolive–didlive,fromhabit oflustandterror.Hewaspainfullyconsciousoftheriskhehad that became instinct–in the assumption that every sound you takenincominghere.Itwasperfectlypossiblethatthepatrols madewasoverheard,and,exceptindarkness,everymovement would catch him on the way out: for that matter they might scrutinized. be waiting outside the door at this moment. If he went away Winstonkepthisbackturnedtothetelescreen.Itwassafer; withoutevendoingwhathehadcomeheretodo—-! though,ashewellknew,evenabackcanberevealing.Akilo- It had got to be written down, it had got to be confessed. metreawaytheMinistryofTruth,hisplaceofwork,towered What he had suddenly seen in the lamplight was that the vast and white above the grimy landscape. This, he thought womanwasOLD.Thepaintwasplasteredsothickonherface with a sort of vague distaste–this was London, chief city of that it looked as though it might crack like a cardboard mask. Airstrip One, itself the third most populous of the provinces Therewerestreaksofwhiteinherhair;butthetrulydreadful of Oceania. He tried to squeeze out some childhood memory detail was that her mouth had fallen a little open, revealing that should tell him whether London had always been quite nothingexceptacavernousblackness.Shehadnoteethatall. likethis.Weretherealwaysthesevistasofrottingnineteenth- Hewrotehurriedly,inscrabblinghandwriting: century houses, their sides shored up with baulks of timber, WhenIsawherinthelightshewasquiteanoldwoman,fifty their windows patched with cardboard and their roofs with yearsoldatleast.ButIwentaheadanddiditjustthesame. corrugated iron, their crazy garden walls sagging in all direc- Hepressedhisfingersagainsthiseyelidsagain.Hehadwrit- tions?Andthebombedsiteswheretheplasterdustswirledin tenitdownatlast,butitmadenodifference.Thetherapyhad the air and the willow-herb straggled over the heaps of rub- not worked. The urge to shout filthy words at the top of his ble;andtheplaceswherethebombshadclearedalargerpatch voicewasasstrongasever. andtherehadsprungupsordidcoloniesofwoodendwellings likechicken-houses?Butitwasnouse,hecouldnotremember: nothingremainedofhischildhoodexceptaseriesofbright-lit tableauxoccurringagainstnobackgroundandmostlyunintel- ligible. The Ministry of Truth–Minitrue, in Newspeak [Newspeak wastheofficiallanguageofOceania.Foranaccountofitsstruc- ture and etymology see Appendix.]–was startlingly different fromanyotherobjectinsight.Itwasanenormouspyramidal structureofglitteringwhiteconcrete,soaringup,terraceafter terrace, 300 metres into the air. From where Winston stood it wasjustpossibletoread,pickedoutonitswhitefaceinelegant lettering,thethreeslogansoftheParty: WARISPEACE FREEDOMISSLAVERY IGNORANCEISSTRENGTH 8 73 Butluckilynochildappeared,andintheendsheagreedtogive TheMinistryofTruthcontained,itwassaid,threethousand uptrying,andsoonafterwardstheyparted. roomsabovegroundlevel,andcorrespondingramificationsbe- Winston sighed inaudibly. He picked up his pen again and low.ScatteredaboutLondontherewerejustthreeotherbuild- wrote: ings of similar appearance and size. So completely did they Shethrewherselfdownonthebed,andatonce,withoutany dwarf the surrounding architecture that from the roof of Vic- kind of preliminary in the most coarse, horrible way you can tory Mansions you could see all four of them simultaneously. imagine,pulledupherskirt.I—- TheywerethehomesofthefourMinistriesbetweenwhichthe He saw himself standing there in the dim lamplight, with entire apparatus of government was divided. The Ministry of the smell of bugs and cheap scent in his nostrils, and in his Truth,whichconcerneditselfwithnews,entertainment,educa- heart a feeling of defeat and resentment which even at that tion,andthefinearts.TheMinistryofPeace,whichconcerned moment was mixed up with the thought of Katharine’s white itself with war. The Ministry of Love, which maintained law body,frozenforeverbythehypnoticpoweroftheParty.Why and order. And the Ministry of Plenty, which was responsi- did it always have to be like this? Why could he not have a ble for economic affairs. Their names, in Newspeak: Minitrue, woman of his own instead of these filthy scuffles at intervals Minipax,Miniluv,andMiniplenty. ofyears?Butarealloveaffairwasanalmostunthinkableevent. The Ministry of Love was the really frightening one. There ThewomenofthePartywereallalike.Chastitywasasdeepin- werenowindowsinitatall.Winstonhadneverbeeninsidethe grainedinthemasPartyloyalty.Bycarefulearlyconditioning, MinistryofLove,norwithinhalfakilometreofit.Itwasaplace bygamesandcoldwater,bytherubbishthatwasdinnedinto impossible to enter except on official business, and then only them at school and in the Spies and the Youth League, by lec- bypenetratingthroughamazeofbarbed-wireentanglements, tures, parades, songs, slogans, and martial music, the natural steel doors, and hidden machine-gun nests. Even the streets feeling had been drivenout of them. His reasontold him that leading up to its outer barriers were roamed by gorilla-faced theremustbeexceptions,buthisheartdidnotbelieveit.They guardsinblackuniforms,armedwithjointedtruncheons. wereallimpregnable,asthePartyintendedthattheyshouldbe. Winstonturnedroundabruptly.Hehadsethisfeaturesinto Andwhathewanted,moreeventhantobeloved,wastobreak the expression of quiet optimism which it was advisable to downthatwallofvirtue,evenifitwereonlyonceinhiswhole wearwhenfacingthetelescreen.Hecrossedtheroomintothe life.Thesexualact,successfullyperformed,wasrebellion.De- tinykitchen.ByleavingtheMinistryatthistimeofdayhehad sire was thoughtcrime. Even to have awakened Katharine, if sacrificedhislunchinthecanteen,andhewasawarethatthere he could have achieved it, would have been like a seduction, was no food in the kitchen except a hunk of dark-coloured althoughshewashiswife. breadwhichhadgottobesavedfortomorrow’sbreakfast.He But the rest of the story had got to be written down. He took down from the shelf a bottle of colourless liquid with a wrote: plain white label marked VICTORY GIN. It gave off a sickly, Iturnedupthelamp.WhenIsawherinthelight—- oilysmell,asofChineserice-spirit.Winstonpouredoutnearly After the darkness the feeble light of the paraffin lamp had ateacupful,nervedhimselfforashock,andgulpeditdownlike seemedverybright.Forthefirsttimehecouldseethewoman adoseofmedicine. properly.Hehadtakenasteptowardsherandthenhalted,full 72 9 Instantlyhisfaceturnedscarletandthewaterranoutofhis vorce,butitratherencouragedseparationincaseswherethere eyes.Thestuffwaslikenitricacid,andmoreover,inswallowing werenochildren. it one had the sensation of being hit on the back of the head Katharine was a tall, fair-haired girl, very straight, with witharubberclub.Thenextmoment,however,theburningin splendidmovements.Shehadabold,aquilineface,afacethat hisbellydieddownandtheworldbegantolookmorecheerful. one might have called noble until one discovered that there HetookacigarettefromacrumpledpacketmarkedVICTORY was as nearly as possible nothing behind it. Very early in her CIGARETTESandincautiouslyhelditupright,whereuponthe married life he had decided–though perhaps it was only that tobacco fell out on to the floor. With the next he was more heknewhermoreintimatelythanheknewmostpeople–that successful. He went back to the living-room and sat down at she had without exception the most stupid, vulgar, empty a small table that stood to the left of the telescreen. From the mind that he had ever encountered. She had not a thought in table drawer he took out a penholder, a bottle of ink, and a her head that was not a slogan, and there was no imbecility, thick, quarto-sized blank book with a red back and a marbled absolutely none that she was not capable of swallowing if cover. the Party handed it out to her. ‘The human sound-track’ he Forsomereasonthetelescreenintheliving-roomwasinan nicknamed her in his own mind. Yet he could have endured unusualposition.Insteadofbeingplaced,aswasnormal,inthe livingwithherifithadnotbeenforjustonething–sex. end wall, where it could command the whole room, it was in Assoonashetouchedhersheseemedtowinceandstiffen. the longer wall, opposite the window. To one side of it there To embrace her was like embracing a jointed wooden image. was a shallow alcove in which Winston was now sitting, and And what was strange was that even when she was clasping which, when the flats were built, had probably been intended him against her he had the feeling that she was simultane- toholdbookshelves.Bysittinginthealcove,andkeepingwell ously pushing him away with all her strength. The rigidity of back,Winstonwasabletoremainoutsidetherangeofthetele- her muscles managed to convey that impression. She would screen,sofarassightwent.Hecouldbeheard,ofcourse,butso lietherewithshuteyes,neitherresistingnorco-operatingbut longashestayedinhispresentpositionhecouldnotbeseen. SUBMITTING.Itwasextraordinarilyembarrassing,and,after Itwaspartlytheunusualgeographyoftheroomthathadsug- awhile,horrible.Buteventhenhecouldhavebornelivingwith gestedtohimthethingthathewasnowabouttodo. herifithadbeenagreedthattheyshouldremaincelibate.But Butithadalsobeensuggestedbythebookthathehadjust curiouslyenoughitwasKatharinewhorefusedthis.Theymust, takenoutofthedrawer.Itwasapeculiarlybeautifulbook.Its shesaid,produceachildiftheycould.Sotheperformancecon- smooth creamy paper, a little yellowed by age, was of a kind tinuedtohappen,onceaweekquiteregularly,wheneveritwas thathadnotbeenmanufacturedforatleastfortyyearspast.He notimpossible.Sheevenusedtoremindhimofitinthemorn- couldguess,however,thatthebookwasmucholderthanthat. ing,assomethingwhichhadtobedonethateveningandwhich Hehadseenitlyinginthewindowofafrowsylittlejunk-shop mustnotbeforgotten.Shehadtwonamesforit.Onewas‘mak- inaslummyquarterofthetown(justwhatquarterhedidnot ingababy’,andtheotherwas‘ourdutytotheParty’(yes,she nowremember)andhadbeenstrickenimmediatelybyanover- had actually used that phrase). Quite soon he grew to have a whelming desire to possess it. Party members were supposed feelingofpositivedreadwhentheappointeddaycameround. not to go into ordinary shops (‘dealing on the free market’, it 10 71