Speaker 1: Section nine of nineteen eighty four by George Orwell. This
Speaker 1: Legami's recording may be freely distributed and had apted for
Speaker 1: any purpose. Part two, Chapter one. It was the middle
Speaker 1: of the morning, and Winston had left the cubicle to
Speaker 1: go to the lavatory. A solitary figure was coming towards
Speaker 1: him from the other end of the long, brightly lit corridor.
Speaker 1: It was the girl with dark hair. Four days had
Speaker 1: gone past since the evening when he had run into
Speaker 1: her outside the junk shop. As she came nearer, he
Speaker 1: saw that her right arm was in a sling, not
Speaker 1: noticeable at a distance because it was of the same
Speaker 1: color as her overalls. Probably she had crushed her hand
Speaker 1: while swinging round one of the big kaleidoscopes on which
Speaker 1: the plots of novels were ruffed in. It was a
Speaker 1: common accident in the fiction department. There were perhaps four
Speaker 1: meters apart. When the girl stumbled and fell almost flat
Speaker 1: on her face. A sharp cry of pain was wrung
Speaker 1: out of her. She must have fallen right on the
Speaker 1: injured arm. Winston stopped short. The girl had risen to
Speaker 1: her knees. Her face had turned a milky yellow color,
Speaker 1: against which her mouth stood out redder than ever. Her
Speaker 1: eyes were fixed on his with an appealing expression that
Speaker 1: looked more like fear than pain, a curious emotion stirred
Speaker 1: in Winston's heart. In front of him was an enemy
Speaker 1: who was trying to kill him. In front of him
Speaker 1: also was a human creature in pain, and perhaps with
Speaker 1: a broken bone. Already, he had instinctively started forward to
Speaker 1: help her. In the moment when he had seen her
Speaker 1: fall on the bandage at arm, it had been as
Speaker 1: though he felt the pain in his own body. You're hurt,
Speaker 1: he said, It's nothing, my arm, It'll be all right.
Speaker 1: In a second, she spoke as though her heart were fluttering.
Speaker 1: She had certainly turned very pale. You haven't broken anything. No,
Speaker 1: I'm all right. It hurt for a moment, that's all.
Speaker 1: She held out her free hand to him, and he
Speaker 1: helped her up. She had regained some of her color
Speaker 1: and appeared very much better. It's nothing, she repeated shortly.
Speaker 1: I only gave my wrist a bit of a bang,
Speaker 1: thanks comrade. And with that she walked on in the
Speaker 1: direction in which she had been going, as briskly as
Speaker 1: though it had really been nothing. The whole incident could
Speaker 1: not have taken as much as half a minute. Not
Speaker 1: to let one's feelings appear in one's face was a
Speaker 1: habit that had acquired the status of an instinct, And
Speaker 1: in any case, they had been standing straight in front
Speaker 1: of a telescreen when the thing happened. Nevertheless, it had
Speaker 1: been very difficult not to betray a momentary surprise, for
Speaker 1: in the two or three seconds while he was helping
Speaker 1: her up, the girl had slipped something into his hand.
Speaker 1: There was no question that she had done it intentionally.
Speaker 1: It was something small and flat. As he passed through
Speaker 1: the lavatory door, he transferred it through his pocket and
Speaker 1: felt it with the tips of his fingers. It was
Speaker 1: a scrap of paper folded into a square. While he
Speaker 1: stood at the urinal, he managed, with a little more
Speaker 1: fingering to get it unfolded. Obviously, there must be a
Speaker 1: message of some kind and written on it. For a moment,
Speaker 1: he was tempted to take it into one of the
Speaker 1: water closets and read it at once, but that would
Speaker 1: be shocking folly, as he well knew there was no
Speaker 1: place where you could be more certain that the telescreens
Speaker 1: were watched continuously. He went back to his cubicle, sat down,
Speaker 1: threw the fragment of paper casually among the other papers
Speaker 1: on the desk, put on his spectacles, and hitched the
Speaker 1: speak right towards him. Five minutes, he told himself, five
Speaker 1: minutes at the very least. His heart bumped in his
Speaker 1: breast with frightening loudness. Fortunately, the piece of work he
Speaker 1: was engaged on was mere routine, the rectification of a
Speaker 1: long list of figures, not needing close attention. Whatever was
Speaker 1: written on the paper, it must have some kind of
Speaker 1: political meaning. So far as he could see, there were
Speaker 1: two possibilities. One much the more likely, was that the
Speaker 1: girl was an agent of the thought Police, just as
Speaker 1: he had feared. He did not know why the thought
Speaker 1: Police should choose to deliver their messages in such a fashion,
Speaker 1: but perhaps they had their reasons. The thing that was
Speaker 1: written on the paper might be a threat, a summons,
Speaker 1: an order to commit suicide, a trap of some description.
Speaker 1: But there was another wilder possibility that kept raising its head,
Speaker 1: though he tried vainly to suppress it. This was that
Speaker 1: the message did not come from the thought Police at all,
Speaker 1: but from some kind of underground organization. Perhaps the Brotherhood
Speaker 1: existed after all, perhaps the girl was part of it.
Speaker 1: No doubt, the idea was absurd, but it had sprung
Speaker 1: into his mind in the very instant of feeling the
Speaker 1: scrap of paper in his hand. It was not till
Speaker 1: a couple of minutes later that the other, more probable
Speaker 1: explanation had occurred to him. And even now, though his
Speaker 1: intellect told him that the message probably meant death, still
Speaker 1: that was not what he believed, and the unreasonable hope persisted,
Speaker 1: and his heart banged, and it was with difficulty that
Speaker 1: he kept his voice from trembling as he murmured his
Speaker 1: figures into the speak right, he rolled up the completed
Speaker 1: bundle of work and slid it into the pneumatic tube.
Speaker 1: Eight minutes had gone by. He readjusted his spectacles on
Speaker 1: his nose, sighed, and drew the next batch of work
Speaker 1: towards him. With the scrap of paper on top of it,
Speaker 1: he flattened it out on it was written in a large,
Speaker 1: unformed handwriting I Love you. For several seconds, he was
Speaker 1: too stunned even to throw the incriminating thing into the
Speaker 1: memory hole. When he did so, although he knew very
Speaker 1: well the danger of showing too much interest, he could
Speaker 1: not resist reading it once again, just to make sure
Speaker 1: that the words were really there. For the rest of
Speaker 1: the morning, it was very difficult to work. What was
Speaker 1: even worse than having to focus his mind on a
Speaker 1: series of niggling jobs was the need to conceal his
Speaker 1: agitation from the tele screen. He felt as though a
Speaker 1: fire were burning in his belly. Lunch in the hot, crowded,
Speaker 1: noise filled canteen was torment. He had hoped to be
Speaker 1: alone for a little while during the lunch hour, but
Speaker 1: as bad luck would have it, the imbecile Parsons flopped
Speaker 1: down beside him, the tang of his sweat almost defeating
Speaker 1: the tiny smell ofs and kept up a stream of
Speaker 1: talk about the preparations for Hate Week. He was particularly
Speaker 1: enthusiastic about a papier mache model of Big Brother's head
Speaker 1: two meters wide, which was being made for the occasion
Speaker 1: by his daughter's troop of spies. The irritating thing was
Speaker 1: that in the racket of voices, Winston could hardly hear
Speaker 1: what Parsons was saying, and was constantly having to ask
Speaker 1: for some fatuous remark to be repeated. Just once he
Speaker 1: caught a glimpse of the girl at a table with
Speaker 1: two other girls at the far end of the room.
Speaker 1: She appeared not to have seen him, and he did
Speaker 1: not look in that direction again. The afternoon was more bearable.
Speaker 1: Immediately after lunch there arrived a delicate, difficult piece of
Speaker 1: work which would take several hours and necessitated putting everything
Speaker 1: else aside. It consisted in falsifying a series of production
Speaker 1: reports of two years ago in such a way as
Speaker 1: to cast discredit on a prominent member of the inner
Speaker 1: Party who was now under a cloud. This was the
Speaker 1: kind of thing that Winston was good at, and for
Speaker 1: more than two hours, he said, succeeded in shutting the
Speaker 1: girl out of his mind altogether. Then the memory of
Speaker 1: her face came back, and with it a raging, intolerable
Speaker 1: desire to be alone. Until he could be alone, it
Speaker 1: was impossible to think this new development out to night
Speaker 1: was one of his nights at the community center. He
Speaker 1: wolfed another tasteless meal in the canteen, hurried off to
Speaker 1: the center, took part in the solemn foolry of a
Speaker 1: discussion group, played two games of table tennis, swallowed several
Speaker 1: glasses of gin, and sat for half an hour through
Speaker 1: a lecture entitled Ingsock in relation to Chess. His soul
Speaker 1: writhed with boredom, but for once he had had no
Speaker 1: impulse to shirk his evening at the center. At the
Speaker 1: sight of the words I love you, the desire to
Speaker 1: stay alive had welled up in him, and the taking
Speaker 1: of minor risks suddenly seemed stupid. It was not till
Speaker 1: twenty three hours, when he was home and in bed,
Speaker 1: in the darkness, where you were safe even from the telescreen,
Speaker 1: so long as you kept silent, that he was able
Speaker 1: to think continuously. It was a physical problem had to
Speaker 1: be solved. How to get in touch with the girl
Speaker 1: and arrange a meeting. He did not consider any longer
Speaker 1: the possibility that she might be laying some kind of
Speaker 1: trap for him. He knew that it was not so
Speaker 1: because of her unmistakable agitation when she handed him the note.
Speaker 1: Obviously she had been frightened out of her wits as
Speaker 1: well she might be. Nor did the idea of refusing
Speaker 1: her advances even cross his mind. Only five nights ago
Speaker 1: he had contemplated smashing her skull in with the cobblestone,
Speaker 1: but that was of no importance. He thought of her naked,
Speaker 1: youthful body as he had seen it in his dream.
Speaker 1: He had imagined her a fool like all the rest
Speaker 1: of them, her head stuffed with lies and hatred, a
Speaker 1: belly full of ice. A kind of fever seized him
Speaker 1: at the thought that he might lose her, the white,
Speaker 1: youthful body, might slip away from him. What he feared
Speaker 1: more than anything else was that she would simply change
Speaker 1: her mind if he did not get in touch with
Speaker 1: her quickly. But the physical difficulty of meeting was enormous.
Speaker 1: It was like trying to make a move at chess
Speaker 1: when you were already mated. Whichever way you turned, the
Speaker 1: telescreen faced you. Actually, all the possible ways of communicating
Speaker 1: with her had occurred to him within five minutes of
Speaker 1: reading the note, But now, with time to think, he
Speaker 1: went over them one by one, as though laying out
Speaker 1: a row of instruments on the table. Obviously, the kind
Speaker 1: of encounter that had happened this morning could not be repeated.
Speaker 1: If she had worked in the records department, it might
Speaker 1: have been comparatively simple. But he had only a very
Speaker 1: dim idea whereabouts in the building the fiction department lay,
Speaker 1: and he had no pretty text for going there. If
Speaker 1: he had known where she lived and at what time
Speaker 1: she left work, he could have contrived to meet her
Speaker 1: somewhere on her way home. But to try to follow
Speaker 1: her home was not safe because it would mean loitering
Speaker 1: about outside the ministry, which was bound to be noticed.
Speaker 1: As for sending a letter through the mails, it was
Speaker 1: out of the question by her routine that was not
Speaker 1: even secret. All letters were opened in transit. Actually, few
Speaker 1: people ever wrote letters. For the messages that it was
Speaker 1: occasionally necessary to send. There were printed post cards with
Speaker 1: long lists of phrases, and you struck out the ones
Speaker 1: that were inapplicable. In any case, he did not know
Speaker 1: the girl's name, let alone her address. Finally, he decided
Speaker 1: that the safest place was the canteen, if he could
Speaker 1: get her at a table by herself, somewhere in the
Speaker 1: middle of the room, not too near the telescreens, and
Speaker 1: with a sufficient buzz of conversation all round. If these
Speaker 1: conditions endured for say thirty seconds, it might be possible
Speaker 1: to exchange a few words. For a week. After this,
Speaker 1: life was like a restless dream. On the next day,
Speaker 1: she did not appear in the canteen until he was
Speaker 1: leaving it, the whistle having already blown. Presumably she had
Speaker 1: been changed on to a later shift. They passed each
Speaker 1: other without a glance. On the day after that, she
Speaker 1: was in the canteen at the usual time, but with
Speaker 1: three other girls and immediately under a telescreen. Then for
Speaker 1: three dreadful days she did not appear at all. His
Speaker 1: whole mind and body seemed to be afflicted with an
Speaker 1: unbearable sensitivity, a sort of transparency which made every movement,
Speaker 1: every sound, every contact, every word that he had to
Speaker 1: speak or listen to an agony. Even in sleep, he
Speaker 1: could not altogether escape from her image. He did not
Speaker 1: touch the diary during those days. If there was any relief,
Speaker 1: it was in his work, in which he could sometimes
Speaker 1: forget himself for ten minutes at a stretch. He had
Speaker 1: absolutely no clue as to what had happened to her.
Speaker 1: There was no inquiry he could make. She might have
Speaker 1: been vaporized. She might have committed suicide. She might have
Speaker 1: been transferred to the other end of Oceania. Worse, and
Speaker 1: likeliest of all, she might simply have changed her mind
Speaker 1: and decided to avoid him. The next day she reappeared.
Speaker 1: Her arm was out of the sling, and she had
Speaker 1: a band of sticking plaster around her wrist. The relief
Speaker 1: of seeing her was so great that he could not
Speaker 1: resist staring directly at her for several seconds. On the
Speaker 1: following day, he very nearly succeeded in speaking to her.
Speaker 1: When he came into the canteen, she was sitting at
Speaker 1: a table well out from the wall and was quite alone.
Speaker 1: It was early and the place was not very full.
Speaker 1: The coue edged forward till Winston was almost at the counter,
Speaker 1: then was held up for two minutes because some one
Speaker 1: in front was complaining that he had not received his
Speaker 1: tablet of saccharin. But the girl was still alone. When
Speaker 1: Winston secured his tray and began to make for her table,
Speaker 1: he walked casually towards her, his eyes searching for a
Speaker 1: place at some table beyond her. She was perhaps three
Speaker 1: meters away from him. Another two seconds would do it.
Speaker 1: Then a voice behind him called Psmith. He pretended not
Speaker 1: to hear Smith repeated the voice more loudly. It was
Speaker 1: no use. He turned round. A blond headed, silly faced
Speaker 1: young man named Wilshire, whom he barely knew, was inviting
Speaker 1: him with a smile to a vacant place at his table.
Speaker 1: It was not safe to refuse after having been recognized.
Speaker 1: He could not go and sit at a table with
Speaker 1: an unattended girl. It was too noticeable. He sat down
Speaker 1: with a friendly smile. The silly blond face beamed into
Speaker 1: his Winston and had a hallucination of himself smashing a
Speaker 1: pickaxe right into the middle of it. The girl's table
Speaker 1: filled up a few minutes later, but she must have
Speaker 1: seen him coming towards her, and perhaps she would take
Speaker 1: the hint. Next day, he took care to arrive early.
Speaker 1: Surely enough, she was at a table in about the
Speaker 1: same place, and again alone. The person immediately ahead of
Speaker 1: him in the queue was a small, swiftly moving beetle
Speaker 1: like man with a flat face and tiny, suspicious eyes.
Speaker 1: As Winston turned away from the counter with his tray,
Speaker 1: he saw that the little man was making straight for
Speaker 1: the girl's table. His hopes sank again. There was a
Speaker 1: vacant place at a table further away, but something in
Speaker 1: the little man's appearance suggested that he would be sufficiently
Speaker 1: attentive to his own comfort to choose the emptiest table.
Speaker 1: With eyes at his heart, Winston followed. It was no
Speaker 1: use unless he could get the girl alone. At this moment,
Speaker 1: there was a tremendous crash. The little man was sprawling
Speaker 1: on all fours. His tray had gone flying, two streams
Speaker 1: of soup and coffee were flowing across the floor. He
Speaker 1: started to his feet with a malignant glance at Winston,
Speaker 1: whom he evidently suspected of having tripped him up. But
Speaker 1: it was all right. Five seconds later, with a thundering heart,
Speaker 1: Winston was sitting at the girl's table. He did not
Speaker 1: look at her. He unpacked his tray and promptly began eating.
Speaker 1: It was all important to speak at once before any
Speaker 1: one else came. But now a terrible fear had taken
Speaker 1: possession of him. A week had gone by since she
Speaker 1: had first approached him. She would have changed her mind.
Speaker 1: She must have changed her mind. It was impossible that
Speaker 1: this affair should end successfully. Such things did not happen
Speaker 1: in real life. He might have flinched altogether from speaking
Speaker 1: if at this moment he had not seen Ampleforth, the
Speaker 1: hairy eared poet wandering limply round the room with a tray,
Speaker 1: looking for a place to sit down. In his vague way,
Speaker 1: Ampleforth was attached to Winston and would certainly sit down
Speaker 1: at his table if he caught sight of him. There
Speaker 1: was perhaps a minute in which to act. Both Winston
Speaker 1: and the girl were eating steadily. The stuff they were
Speaker 1: eating was a thin stew, actually a soup of harricot beans.
Speaker 1: In a low murmur, Winston began speaking. Neither of them
Speaker 1: looked up steadily. They spooned the watery stuff into their mouths,
Speaker 1: and between spoonfuls exchanged the few necessary words in low
Speaker 1: expressionless voices. What time do you leave work? Eighteen thirty?
Speaker 1: Where can we meet? Victory Square near the monument. It's
Speaker 1: full of telescreens. It doesn't matter if there's a crowd,
Speaker 1: any signal. No, don't come up to me until you
Speaker 1: see me among a lot of people, and don't look
Speaker 1: at me. Just keep somewhere near me. What time nineteen hours?
Speaker 1: All right? Ampleforth failed to see Winston and sat down
Speaker 1: at another table. They did not speak again, and so
Speaker 1: far as it was possible for two people sitting on
Speaker 1: opposite sides of the same table, they did not look
Speaker 1: at one another. The girl finished her lunch quickly and
Speaker 1: made off, while Winston stayed to smoke a cigarette. Winston
Speaker 1: was in Victory Square before the appointed time. He wandered
Speaker 1: round the base of the enormous fluted column at the
Speaker 1: top of which Big Brother's statue gazed southward towards the
Speaker 1: skies where he had vanquished the Eurasian aeroplanes the East
Speaker 1: Asian aeroplanes. It had been a few years ago in
Speaker 1: the Battle of Airstrip I. In the street in front
Speaker 1: of it there was a statue of a man on horseback,
Speaker 1: which was supposed to represent Oliver Cromwell. At five minutes
Speaker 1: past the hour, the girl had still not appeared again.
Speaker 1: The terrible fear seized upon Winston. She was not coming,
Speaker 1: she had changed her mind. He walked slowly up to
Speaker 1: the north side of the square and got a sort
Speaker 1: of pale colored pleasure from identifying Saint Martin's Church, whose bells,
Speaker 1: when it had bells, had chimed you owe me three farthings.
Speaker 1: Then he saw the girl standing at the base of
Speaker 1: the monument, reading or pretending to read, a poster which
Speaker 1: ran spirally up the column. It was not safe to
Speaker 1: go near her until some more people had accumulated. There
Speaker 1: were telescreens all round the pediment, but at this moment
Speaker 1: there was a din of shouting and a zoom of
Speaker 1: heavy vehicles from somewhere to the left. Suddenly everyone seemed
Speaker 1: to be running across the square. The girl nipped nimbly
Speaker 1: round the lions at the base of the monument and
Speaker 1: joined in the rush. Winston followed. As he ran, he
Speaker 1: gathered from some shouted remarks that a convoy of Eurasian
Speaker 1: prisoners was passing. Already, a dense mass of people was
Speaker 1: blocking the south side of the square. Winston, at normal times,
Speaker 1: the kind of person who gravitates to the outer edge
Speaker 1: of any kind of scrimmage, shoved, buttered, squirmed his way
Speaker 1: forward into the heart of the crowd. Soon he was
Speaker 1: within arm's length of the girl, but the way was
Speaker 1: blocked by an enormous proll with an almost equally enormous woman,
Speaker 1: presumably his wife, who seemed to form an impenetrable wall
Speaker 1: of flesh. Winston wriggled himself sideways, and with a violent lunge,
Speaker 1: managed to drive his shoulder between them. For a moment,
Speaker 1: it felt as though his entrails were being ground to
Speaker 1: pulp between the two muscular hips. Then he had broken through,
Speaker 1: sweating a little. He was next to the girl. There
Speaker 1: were shoulder to shoulder, both staring fixedly in front of them.
Speaker 1: A long line of trucks with wooden faced guards armed
Speaker 1: with submachine guns standing upright in each corner, was passing
Speaker 1: slowly down the street. In the trucks, little yellow men
Speaker 1: in shabby greenish uniforms were squatting, jammed close together. Their
Speaker 1: sad Mongolian faces gazed out over the sides of the trucks,
Speaker 1: utterly and curious. Occasionally, when a truck jolted, there was
Speaker 1: a clank, clank of metal. All the prisoners were wearing
Speaker 1: leg irons. Truckload after truckload of the sad faces passed.
Speaker 1: Winston knew they were there, but he saw them only intermittently.
Speaker 1: The girl's shoulder and her arm right down to the elbow,
Speaker 1: were pressed against his. Her cheek was almost near enough
Speaker 1: for him to feel its warmth. She had immediately taken
Speaker 1: charge of the situation, just as she had done in
Speaker 1: the canteen. She began speaking in the same expressionless voice
Speaker 1: as before, with lips barely moving, a mere murmur, easily
Speaker 1: drowned by the dinner voices and the rumbling of the trucks.
Speaker 1: Can you hear me. Yes, can you get Sunday afternoon off? Yes?
Speaker 1: Then listen carefully, You'll have to remember this. Go to
Speaker 1: Paddington station. With a sort of military precision that astonished him,
Speaker 1: she outlined the route that he was to follow, a
Speaker 1: half hour railway journey. Turn left outside the station, two
Speaker 1: kilometers along the road, a gate with the top bar missing,
Speaker 1: a path across a field, a grass grown lane, a
Speaker 1: track between bushes, a dead tree with moss on it.
Speaker 1: It was as though she had a map inside her head.
Speaker 1: Can you remember all that? She murmured finally, Yes, you
Speaker 1: turn left, then right, then left again, and the gate's
Speaker 1: got no top bar. Yes, what time about fifteen? You
Speaker 1: may have to wait. I'll get there by another way.
Speaker 1: Are you sure you remember everything? Yes? Then get away
Speaker 1: from me as quick as you can. She need not
Speaker 1: have told him that, but for the moment they could
Speaker 1: not extricate themselves from the crowd. The trucks were still
Speaker 1: filing past, the people still insatiably gaping at the start.
Speaker 1: There had been a few boos and hisses, but it
Speaker 1: came only from the party members among the crowd, and
Speaker 1: had soon stopped. The prevailing emotion was simply curiosity. Foreigners,
Speaker 1: whether from Eurasia or from East Asia, were a kind
Speaker 1: of strange animal. One literally never saw them except in
Speaker 1: the guise of prisoners, and even as prisoners, one never
Speaker 1: got more than a momentary glimpse of them, nor did
Speaker 1: one know what became of them. Apart from the few
Speaker 1: who were hanged as war criminals, the others simply vanished,
Speaker 1: presumably into forced labor camps. The round Mongol faces had
Speaker 1: given way to faces of a more European type, dirty
Speaker 1: bearded and exhausted from over scrubby cheek bones. Eyes looked
Speaker 1: into Winstons, sometimes with strange intensity, and flashed away again.
Speaker 1: The convoy was drawing to an end. In the last truck,
Speaker 1: he could see an aged man, his face a mass
Speaker 1: of grizzled hair, standing upright, with wrists crossed in front
Speaker 1: of him, as though he were used to having them
Speaker 1: bound together. It was almost time for Winston and the
Speaker 1: girl to part, but at the last moment, while the
Speaker 1: crowd still hemmed them in, her hand felt for his
Speaker 1: and gave it a fleeting squeeze. It could not have
Speaker 1: been ten seconds, and yet it seemed a long time
Speaker 1: that their hands were clasped together. He had time to
Speaker 1: learn every detail of her hand. He explored the long fingers,
Speaker 1: the shapely nails, the work hard and palm with its
Speaker 1: row of callouses, the smooth flesh under the wrist. Merely
Speaker 1: from feeling it, he would have known it by sight.
Speaker 1: In the same instant, it occurred to him that he
Speaker 1: did not know what color the girl's eyes were. They
Speaker 1: were probably brown, but people with dark hair sometimes had
Speaker 1: blue eyes. To turn his head and look at her
Speaker 1: would have been inconceivable folly. With hands locked together, invisible
Speaker 1: among the press of bodies, they stared steadily in front
Speaker 1: of them, and instead of the eyes of the girl,
Speaker 1: the eyes of the aged prisoner gazed mournfully at Winston
Speaker 1: out of nests of hair. End of Section nine.