He did not know where he was. Presumably he was in the Ministry of Love; but there was no way of making certain. He was in a high-ceilinged windowless cell with walls of glittering white porcelain. Concealed lamps flooded it with cold light, and there was a low, steady humming sound...

Ampleforth made one or two uncertain movements from side to side, as though having some idea that there was another door to go out of, and then began to wander up and down the cell. He had not yet noticed Winston’s presence. His troubled eyes were gazing at the wall about a metre...

The man sat down on the bench at a little distance from Winston. Winston did not look at him again, but the tormented, skull-like face was as vivid in his mind as though it had been straight in front of his eyes. Suddenly he realised what was the matter. The man was dying of starvation....

He was lying on something that felt like a camp bed, except that it was higher off the ground and that he was fixed down in some way so that he could not move. Light that seemed stronger than usual was falling on his face. O’Brien was standing at his side, looking down at him...

Winston drew in his breath. He opened his mouth to speak and then did not speak. He could not take his eyes away from the dial. ‘The truth, please, Winston. Your truth. Tell me what you think you remember.’ ‘I remember that until only a week before I was arrested, we were...

He was bending over Winston. His face looked enormous because of its nearness, and hideously ugly because it was seen from below. Moreover it was filled with a sort of exaltation, a lunatic intensity. Again Winston’s heart shrank. If it had been possible he would have cowered...

‘There are three stages in your re-integration,’ said O’Brien. ‘There is learning, there is understanding, and there is acceptance. It is time for you to enter upon the second stage.’ As always, Winston was lying flat on his back. But of late his bonds were looser. They...

He paused as though he expected Winston to speak. Winston had tried to shrink back into the surface of the bed again. He could not say anything. His heart seemed to be frozen. O’Brien went on: ‘And remember that it is for ever. The face will always be there to be stamped upon....

He was much better. He was growing fatter and stronger every day, if it was proper to speak of days. The white light and the humming sound were the same as ever, but the cell was a little more comfortable than the others he had been in. There was a pillow and a mattress on the plank...

He set to work to exercise himself in crimestop. He presented himself with propositions – ‘the Party says the earth is flat’, ‘the Party says that ice is heavier than water’ – and trained himself in not seeing or not understanding the arguments that contradicted them....