a little boy about
three years old in her arms. little boy screaming with fright and hiding
his head between her breasts as if he was trying to burrow right into her
and the woman putting her arms round him and comforting him although she
was blue with fright herself, all the time covering him up as much as
possible as if she thought her arms could keep the bullets off him. then
the helicopter planted a 20 kilo bomb in among them terrific flash and the
boat went all to matchwood. then there was a wonderful shot of a child's
arm going up up up right up into the air a helicopter with a camera in its
nose must have followed it up and there was a lot of applause from the
party seats but a woman down in the prole part of the house suddenly
started kicking up a fuss and shouting they didnt oughter of showed it not
in front of kids they didnt it aint right not in front of kids it aint
until the police turned her turned her out i dont suppose anything happened
to her nobody cares what the proles say typical prole reaction they never--

Winston stopped writing, partly because he was suffering from cramp.
He did not know what had made him pour out this stream of rubbish. But the
curious thing was that while he was doing so a totally different memory had
clarified itself in his mind, to the point where he almost felt equal to
writing it down. It was, he now realized, because of this other incident