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was only later and by degrees that they had seemed to take on significance. He could not now remember whether it was before or after having the dream that he had seen O’Brien for the first time, nor could he remember when he had first identified the voice as O’Brien’s. But at any rate the identification existed. It was O’Brien who had spoken to him out of the dark.

Winston had never been able to feel sure — even after this morning’s flash of the eyes it was stil impossible to be sure whether O’Brien was a friend or an enemy. Nor did it even seem to matter greatly. There was a link of understanding between them, more important than affection or partisanship.

’We shal meet in the place where there is no darkness,’ he had said. Winston did not know what it meant, only that in some way or another it would come true. The voice from the telescreen paused. A trumpet cal , clear and beautiful, floated into the stagnant air. The voice continued raspingly:

’Attention! Your attention, please! A newsflash has this moment arrived from the Malabar front. Our forces in South India have won a glorious victory. I am authorized to say that the action we are now reporting may wel bring the war within measurable distance of its end. Here is the newsflash -’

Bad news coming, thought Winston. And sure enough, fol owing on a gory description of the annihilation of a Eurasian army, with stupendous figures of kil ed and prisoners, came the announcement that, as from next week, the chocolate ration would be reduced from thirty grammes to twenty. Winston belched again. The gin was wearing off, leaving a deflated feeling. The telescreen — perhaps to celebrate the victory, perhaps to drown the memory of the lost chocolate — crashed into ’Oceania, ’tis for thee’. You were supposed to stand to attention. However, in his present position he was invisible.

’Oceania, ’tis for thee’ gave way to lighter music. Winston walked over to the window, keeping his back to the telescreen. The day was stil cold and clear. Somewhere far away a rocket bomb exploded with a dul , reverberating roar. About twenty or thirty of them a week were fal ing on London at present. Down in the street the wind flapped the torn poster to and fro, and the word INGSOC fitful y appeared and vanished. Ingsoc. The sacred principles of Ingsoc. Newspeak, doublethink, the mutability of the past.