Re: For Christmas
- From: "Bazza" <bazza2556@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Tue, 25 Dec 2007 22:10:23 GMT
Sometimes they are
three. Sometimes they are all of them at once. You must try harder. It is
not easy to become sane.'
He laid Winston down on the bed. The grip of his limbs tightened
again, but the pain had ebbed away and the trembling had stopped, leaving
him merely weak and cold. O'Brien motioned with his head to the man in the
white coat, who had stood immobile throughout the proceedings. The man in
the white coat bent down and looked closely into Winston's eyes, felt his
pulse, laid an ear against his chest, tapped here and there, then he nodded
to O'Brien.
'Again,' said O'Brien.
The pain flowed into Winston's body. The needle must be at seventy,
seventy-five. He had shut his eyes this time. He knew that the fingers were
still there, and still four. All that mattered was somehow to stay alive
until the spasm was over. He had ceased to notice whether he was crying out
or not. The pain lessened again. He opened his eyes. O'Brien had drawn back
the lever.
'How many fingers, Winston?'
'Four. I suppose there are four. I would see five if I could. I am
trying to see five.'
'Which do you wish: to persuade me that you see five, or really to see
them?'
'Really to see them.'
'Again,' said O'Brien.
Perhaps the needle was eighty -- ninety. Winston could not
intermittently remember why the pain was happening. Behind his screwed-up
eyelids a forest of fingers seemed to be moving in a sort of dance, weaving
in and out, disappearing behind one another and reappearing again. He was
trying to count them, he could not remember why. He knew only that it was
impossible to count
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