14 1984
usual, as though he were not pleased at being disturbed. The
terror that Winston already felt was suddenly shot through
by a streak of ordinary embarrassment. It seemed to him
quite possible that he had simply made a stupid mistake.
For what evidence had he in reality that O’Brien was any
kind of political conspirator? Nothing but a flash of the eyes
and a single equivocal remark: beyond that, only his own
secret imaginings, founded on a dream. He could not even
fall back on the pretence that he had come to borrow the
dictionary, because in that case Julia’s presence was impos-
sible to explain. As O’Brien passed the telescreen a thought
seemed to strike him. He stopped, turned aside and pressed
a switch on the wall. There was a sharp snap. The voice had
stopped.
Julia uttered a tiny sound, a sort of squeak of surprise.
Even in the midst of his panic, Winston was too much taken
aback to be able to hold his tongue.
‘You can turn it off!’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said O’Brien, ‘we can turn it off. We have that privi-
lege.’
He was opposite them now. His solid form towered
over the pair of them, and the expression on his face was
still indecipherable. He was waiting, somewhat sternly, for
Winston to speak, but about what? Even now it was quite
conceivable that he was simply a busy man wondering ir-
ritably why he had been interrupted. Nobody spoke. After
the stopping of the telescreen the room seemed deadly si-
lent. The seconds marched past, enormous. With difficulty
Winston continued to keep his eyes fixed on O’Brien’s. Then