Well I'll be ....

III

Winston was dreaming of his mother.
He must, he thought, have been ten or eleven years old when his mother
had disappeared. She was a tall, statuesque, rather silent woman with slow
movements and magnificent fair hair. His father he remembered more vaguely
as dark and thin, dressed always in neat dark clothes (Winston remembered
especially the very thin soles of his father's shoes) and wearing
spectacles. The two of them must evidently have been swallowed up in one of
the first great purges of the fifties.
At this moment his mother was sitting in some place deep down beneath
him, with his young sister in her arms. He did not remember his sister at
all, except as a tiny, feeble baby, always silent, with large, watchful
eyes. Both of them were looking up at him. They were down in some
subterranean place -- the bottom of a well, for instance, or a very deep
grave -- but it was a place which, already far below him, was itself moving
downwards. They were in the saloon of a sinking ship, looking up at him
through the darkening water. There was still air in the saloon, they could
still see him and he them, but all the while they were sinking down, down
into the green waters which in another moment must hide them from sight for
ever. He was out in the light and air while they were being sucked down to
death, and they were down there because he was up here. He knew it and they
knew it, and he could see the knowledge in their faces. There w