Synthetic Oil question

him, if possible, in the technicalities of Newspeak, on which he
was authoritative and interesting. Winston turned his head a little aside
to avoid the scrutiny of the large dark eyes.
'It was a good hanging,' said Syme reminiscently. 'I think it spoils
it when they tie their feet together. I like to see them kicking. And above
all, at the end, the tongue sticking right out, and blue -- a quite bright
blue. That's the detail that appeals to me.'
'Nex', please!' yelled the white-aproned prole with the ladle.
Winston and Syme pushed their trays beneath the grille. On to each was
dumped swiftly the regulation lunch -- a metal pannikin of pinkish-grey
stew, a hunk of bread, a cube of cheese, a mug of milkless Victory Coffee,
and one saccharine tablet.
'There's a table over there, under that telescreen,' said Syme. 'Let's
pick up a gin on the way.'
The gin was served out to them in handleless china mugs. They threaded
their way across the crowded room and unpacked their trays on to the metal-
topped table, on one corner of which someone had left a pool of stew, a
filthy liquid mess that had the appearance of v