punishment in Imperial China,' said O'Brien as
didactically as ever.
The mask was closing on his face. The wire brushed his cheek. And then
-- no, it was not relief, only hope, a tiny fragment of hope. Too late,
perhaps too late. But he had suddenly understood that in the whole world
there was just one person to whom he could transfer his punishment -- one
body that he could thrust between himself and the rats. And he was shouting
frantically, over and over.
'Do it to Julia! Do it to Julia! Not me! Julia! I don't care what you
do to her. Tear her face off, strip her to the bones. Not me! Julia! Not
me!'
He was falling backwards, into enormous depths, away from the rats. He
was still strapped in the chair, but he had fallen through the floor,
through the walls of the building, through the earth, through the oceans,
through the atmosphere, into outer space, into the gulfs between the stars
-- always away, away, away from the rats. He was light years distant, but
O'Brien was still standing at his side. There was still the cold touch of
wire against his cheek. But through the darkness that enveloped him he
heard another metallic click, and knew that the cage door had clicked shut
and not open.



VI

The Chestnut Tree was almost empty. A ray of sunlight slanting through
a window fell on dusty table-tops. It was the lonely hour of fifteen. A
tinny music trickled from the telescreens.
Winston sat in his usual corner, gazing into an empty glass. Now and
again he glanced up at a vast face which eyed him from the opposite wall.
BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU the caption said. Unbidden, a waiter came and
filled his glass up with Victory Gin, shaking into it a few drops from
another bottle with a quill through the cork. It was saccharine flavoured
with cloves, the speciality of the cafe.
Winston was listening to the telescreen. At present only music was