how many?'
'Four.'
The word ended in a gasp of pain. The needle of the dial had shot up
to fifty-five. The sweat had sprung out all over Winston's body. The air
tore into his lungs and issued again in deep groans which even by clenching
his teeth he could not stop. O'Brien watched him, the four fingers still
extended. He drew back the lever. This time the pain was only slightly
eased.
'How many fingers, Winston?'
'Four.'
The needle went up to sixty.
'How many fingers, Winston?'
'Four! Four! What else can I say? Four!'
The needle must have risen again, but he did not look at it. The
heavy, stern face and the four fingers filled his vision. The fingers stood
up before his eyes like pillars, enormous, blurry, and seeming to vibrate,
but unmistakably four.
'How many fingers, Winston?'
'Four! Stop it, stop it! How can you go on? Four! Four!'
'How many fingers, Winston?'
'Five! Five! Five!'
'No, Winston, that is no use. You are lying. You still think there are
four. How many fingers, please?'
'Four! five! Four! Anything you like. Only stop it, stop the pain!'
Abruptly he was sitting up with O'Brien's arm round his shoulders. He
had perhaps lost consciousness for a few seconds. The bonds that had held
his body down were loosened. He felt very cold, he was shaking
uncontrollably, his teeth were chattering, the tears were rolling down his
cheeks. For a moment he clung to O'Brien like a baby, curiously comforted
by the heavy arm round his shoulders. He had the feeling that