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and prisoners, came the announcement that, as from next week, the
chocolate ration would be reduced from thirty grammes to twenty.
Winston belched again. The gin was wearing off, leaving a deflated
feeling. The telescreen -- perhaps to celebrate the victory, perhaps to
drown the memory of the lost chocolate -- crashed into 'Oceania, 'tis for
thee'. You were supposed to stand to attention. However, in his present
position he was invisible.
'Oceania, 'tis for thee' gave way to lighter music. Winston walked
over to the window, keeping his back to the telescreen. The day was still
cold and clear. Somewhere far away a rocket bomb exploded with a dull,
reverberating roar. About twenty or thirty of them a week were falling on
London at present.
Down in the street the wind flapped the torn poster to and fro, and
the word INGSOC fitfully appeared and vanished. Ingsoc. The sacred
principles of Ingsoc. Newspeak, doublethink, the mutability of the past. He
felt as though he were wandering in the forests of the sea bottom, lost in
a monstrous world where he himself was the monster. He was alone. The past
was dead, the future was unimaginable. What certainty had he that a single
human creature now living was on his side? And what way of knowing that the
dominion of the Party would not endure for ever? Like an answer, the three
slogans on the white face of the Ministry of Truth came back to him:

WAR IS PEACE
FREEDOM IS SLAVERY
IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH

He