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 O'Brien was
his protector, that the pain was something that came from outside, from
some other source, and that it was O'Brien who would save him from it.
'You are a slow learner, Winston,' said O'Brien gently.
'How can I help it?' he blubbered. 'How can I help seeing what is in
front of my eyes? Two and two are four.'
'Sometimes, Winston. Sometimes they are five. Sometimes they are
three. Sometimes they are all of them at once. You must try harder. It is
not easy to become sane.'
He laid Winston down on the bed. The grip of his limbs tightened
again, but the pain had ebbed away and the trembling had stopped, leaving
him merely weak and cold. O'Brien motioned with his head to the man in the
white coat, who had stood immobile throughout the proceedings. The man in
the white coat bent down and looked closely into Winston's ey
.
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