[J.R. Sinclair]

you could not feel anything, except pain and
foreknowledge of pain. Besides, was it possible, when you were actually
suffering it, to wish for any reason that your own pain should increase?
But that question was not answerable yet.
The boots were approaching again. The door opened. O'Brien came in.
Winston started to his feet. The shock of the sight had driven all
caution out of him. For the first time in many years he forgot the presence
of the telescreen.
'They've got you too!' he cried.
'They got me a long time ago,' said O'Brien with a mild, almost
regretful irony. He stepped aside. From behind him there emerged a broad-
chested guard with a long black truncheon in his hand.
'You know this, Winston,' said O'Brien. 'Don't deceive yourself. You
did know it -- you have always known it.'
Yes, he saw now, he had always known it. But there was no time to
think of that. All he had eyes for was the truncheon in the guard's hand.
It might fall anywhere; on the crown, on the tip of the ear, on the upper
arm, on the elbow--
The elbow! He had slumped to his knees, almost paralysed, clasping the
stricken elbow with his other hand. Everything had exploded into yellow
light. Inconceivable, inconceivable that one blow could cause such pain!
The light cleared and he could see the other two look