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suddenly the grim face broke down into what might have
been the beginnings of a smile. With his characteristic ges-
ture O’Brien resettled his spectacles on his nose.
‘Shall I say it, or will you?’ he said.
‘I will say it,’ said Winston promptly. ‘That thing is really
turned off?’
‘Yes, everything is turned off. We are alone.’
‘We have come here because——’
He paused, realizing for the first time the vagueness of
his own motives. Since he did not in fact know what kind
of help he expected from O’Brien, it was not easy to say why
he had come here. He went on, conscious that what he was
saying must sound both feeble and pretentious:
‘We believe that there is some kind of conspiracy, some
kind of secret organization working against the Party, and
that you are involved in it. We want to join it and work for it.
We are enemies of the Party. We disbelieve in the principles
of Ingsoc. We are thought-criminals. We are also adulter-
ers. I tell you this because we want to put ourselves at your
mercy. If you want us to incriminate ourselves in any other
way, we are ready.’
He stopped and glanced over his shoulder, with the
feeling that the door had opened. Sure enough, the little yel-
low-faced servant had come in without knocking. Winston
saw that he was carrying a tray with a decanter and glasses.
‘Martin is one of us,’ said O’Brien impassively. ‘Bring
the drinks over here, Martin. Put them on the round table.
Have we enough chairs? Then we may as well sit down and
talk in comfort. Bring a chair for yourself, Martin. This is