J.R. Sinclair
December 25th 07, 08:51 PM
'Yes, easily.'
'I'm thirty-nine years old. I've got a wife that I can't get rid of.
I've got varicose veins. I've got five false teeth.'
'I couldn't care less,' said the girl.
The next moment, it was hard to say by whose act, she was in his his
arms. At the beginning he had no feeling except sheer incredulity. The
youthful body was strained against his own, the mass of dark hair was
against his face, and yes! actually she had turned her face up and he was
kissing the wide red mouth. She had clasped her arms about his neck, she
was calling him darling, precious one, loved one. He had pulled her down on
to the ground, she was utterly unresisting, he could do what he liked with
her. But the truth was that he had no physical sensation, except that of
mere contact. All he felt was incredulity and pride. He was glad that this
was happening, but he had no physical desire. It was too soon, her youth
and prettiness had frightened him, he was too much used to living without
women -- he did not know the reason. The girl picked herself up and pulled
a bluebell out of her hair. She sat against him, putting her arm round his
waist.
'Never mind, dear. There's no hurry. We've got the whole afternoon.
Isn't this a splendid hide-out? I found it when I got lost once on a
community hike. If anyone was coming you could hear them a hundred metres
away.'
'What is your name?' said Winston.
'Julia. I know yours. It's Winston -- Winston Smith.'
'How did you find that out?'
'I expect I'm better at finding things out than you are, dear. Tell
me, what did you think of me before that day I gave you the note?'
He did not feel any temptation to tell lies to her. It was even a sort
of love-offering to start off by telling the worst.
'I hated the sight of you,' he said. '
'I'm thirty-nine years old. I've got a wife that I can't get rid of.
I've got varicose veins. I've got five false teeth.'
'I couldn't care less,' said the girl.
The next moment, it was hard to say by whose act, she was in his his
arms. At the beginning he had no feeling except sheer incredulity. The
youthful body was strained against his own, the mass of dark hair was
against his face, and yes! actually she had turned her face up and he was
kissing the wide red mouth. She had clasped her arms about his neck, she
was calling him darling, precious one, loved one. He had pulled her down on
to the ground, she was utterly unresisting, he could do what he liked with
her. But the truth was that he had no physical sensation, except that of
mere contact. All he felt was incredulity and pride. He was glad that this
was happening, but he had no physical desire. It was too soon, her youth
and prettiness had frightened him, he was too much used to living without
women -- he did not know the reason. The girl picked herself up and pulled
a bluebell out of her hair. She sat against him, putting her arm round his
waist.
'Never mind, dear. There's no hurry. We've got the whole afternoon.
Isn't this a splendid hide-out? I found it when I got lost once on a
community hike. If anyone was coming you could hear them a hundred metres
away.'
'What is your name?' said Winston.
'Julia. I know yours. It's Winston -- Winston Smith.'
'How did you find that out?'
'I expect I'm better at finding things out than you are, dear. Tell
me, what did you think of me before that day I gave you the note?'
He did not feel any temptation to tell lies to her. It was even a sort
of love-offering to start off by telling the worst.
'I hated the sight of you,' he said. '