Mike Lalonde

end of which a pair of spectacles
was perched. It resembled the face of a sheep, and the voice, too, had a
sheep-like quality. Goldstein was delivering his usual venomous attack upon
the doctrines of the Party -- an attack so exaggerated and perverse that a
child should have been able to see through it, and yet just plausible
enough to fill one with an alarmed feeling that other people, less level-
headed than oneself, might be taken in by it. He was abusing Big Brother,
he was denouncing the dictatorship of the Party, he was demanding the
immediate conclusion of peace with Eurasia, he was advocating freedom of
speech, freedom of the Press, freedom of assembly, freedom of thought, he
was crying hysterically that the revolution had been betrayed -- and all
this in rapid polysyllabic speech which was a sort of parody of the
habitual style of the orators of the Party, and even contained Newspeak
words: more Newspeak words, indeed, than any Party member would normally
use in real life. And all the while, lest one should be in any doubt as to
the reality which Goldstein's specious claptrap covered, behind his head on
the telescreen there marched the endless columns of the Eurasian army --
row after row of solid-looking men with expressionless Asiatic faces, who
swam up to the surface