tomorrow, perhaps after a long delay -- he was not certain. What was
happening was only the working-out of a process that had started years ago.
The first step had been a secret, involuntary thought, the second had been
the opening of the diary. He had moved from thoughts to words, and now from
words to actions. The last step was something that would happen in the
Ministry of Love. He had accepted it. The end was contained in the
beginning. But it was frightening: or, more exactly, it was like a
foretaste of death, like being a little less alive. Even while he was
speaking to O'Brien, when the meaning of the words had sunk in, a chilly
shuddering feeling had taken possession of his body. He had the sensation
of stepping into the dampness of a grave, and it was not much better
because he had always known that the grave was there and waiting for him.



VII

Winston had woken up with his eyes full of tears. Julia rolled
sleepily against him, murmuring something that might have been 'What's the
matter?'
'I dreamt--' he began, and stopped short. It was too complex to be put
into words. There was the dream itself, and there was a memory connected
with it that had swum into his mind in the few seconds after waking.
He lay back with his eyes shut, still sodden in the atmosphere of the
dream. It was a vas