John Baker
December 25th 07, 06:52 PM
was
speaking to O'Brien, when the meaning of the words had sunk in, a chilly
shuddering feeling had taken possession of his body. He had the sensation
of stepping into the dampness of a grave, and it was not much better
because he had always known that the grave was there and waiting for him.
VII
Winston had woken up with his eyes full of tears. Julia rolled
sleepily against him, murmuring something that might have been 'What's the
matter?'
'I dreamt--' he began, and stopped short. It was too complex to be put
into words. There was the dream itself, and there was a memory connected
with it that had swum into his mind in the few seconds after waking.
He lay back with his eyes shut, still sodden in the atmosphere of the
dream. It was a vast, luminous dream in which his whole life seemed to
stretch out before him like a landscape on a summer evening after rain. It
had all occurred inside the glass paperweight, but the surface of the glass
was the dome of the sky, and inside the dome everything was flooded with
clear soft light in which one could see into interminable distances. The
dream had also been comprehended by -- indeed, in some sense it had
consisted in -- a gesture of the arm made by his mother, and made again
speaking to O'Brien, when the meaning of the words had sunk in, a chilly
shuddering feeling had taken possession of his body. He had the sensation
of stepping into the dampness of a grave, and it was not much better
because he had always known that the grave was there and waiting for him.
VII
Winston had woken up with his eyes full of tears. Julia rolled
sleepily against him, murmuring something that might have been 'What's the
matter?'
'I dreamt--' he began, and stopped short. It was too complex to be put
into words. There was the dream itself, and there was a memory connected
with it that had swum into his mind in the few seconds after waking.
He lay back with his eyes shut, still sodden in the atmosphere of the
dream. It was a vast, luminous dream in which his whole life seemed to
stretch out before him like a landscape on a summer evening after rain. It
had all occurred inside the glass paperweight, but the surface of the glass
was the dome of the sky, and inside the dome everything was flooded with
clear soft light in which one could see into interminable distances. The
dream had also been comprehended by -- indeed, in some sense it had
consisted in -- a gesture of the arm made by his mother, and made again