8 1984
Winston lay silent. His breast rose and fell a little faster.
He still had not asked the question that had come into his
mind the first. He had got to ask it, and yet it was as though
his tongue would not utter it. There was a trace of amuse-
ment in O’Brien’s face. Even his spectacles seemed to wear
an ironical gleam. He knows, thought Winston suddenly,
he knows what I am going to ask! At the thought the words
burst out of him:
‘What is in Room 101?’
The expression on O’Brien’s face did not change. He an-
swered drily:
‘You know what is in Room 101, Winston. Everyone
knows what is in Room 101.’
He raised a finger to the man in the white coat. Evidently
the session was at an end. A needle jerked into Winston’s
arm. He sank almost instantly into deep sleep.