[vivian barone]

must have known, that his wife
was still alive. He confessed that for years he had been in personal touch
with Goldstein and had been a member of an underground organization which
had included almost every human being he had ever known. It was easier to
confess everything and implicate everybody. Besides, in a sense it was all
true. It was true that he had been the enemy of the Party, and in the eyes
of the Party there was no distinction between the thought and the deed.
There were also memories of another kind. They stood out in his mind
disconnectedly, like pictures with blackness all round them.
He was in a cell which might have been either dark or light, because
he could see nothing except a pair of eyes. Near at hand some kind of
instrument was ticking slowly and regularly. The eyes grew larger and more
luminous. Suddenly he floated out of his seat, dived into the eyes, and was
swallowed up.
He was strapped into a chair surrounded by dials, under dazzling
lights. A man in a white coat was reading the dials. There was a tramp of
heavy boots outside. The door clanged open. The waxed-faced officer marched
in, followed by two guards.
'Room 101,' said the officer.
The man in the white coat did not turn round. He did not look at
Winston either; he was looking only at the dials.
He was rolling down a mighty corridor, a kilometre wide, full of
glorious, golden light, roaring with laughter and shouting out confessions
at the top of his voice. He was confessing everything, even the things he
had succeeded in holding back under the torture. He was relating the