In another moment he would hear the tramp of boots outside. They could not let such an outburst go unpunished. They would know now， if they had not known before， that he was breaking the agreement he had made with them. He obeyed the Party， but he still hated the Party. In the old days he had hidden a heretical mind beneath an appearance of conformity. Now he had retreated a step further： in the mind he had surrendered， but he had hoped to keep the inner heart inviolate. He knew that he was in the wrong， but he preferred to be in the wrong. They would understand that- O’Brien would understand it. It was all confessed in that single foolish cry. He would have to start all over again. It might take years. He ran a hand over his face， trying to familiarize himself with the new shape. There were deep furrows in the cheeks， the cheekbones felt sharp， the nose flattened. Besides， since last seeing himself in the glass he had been given a complete new set of teeth. It was not easy to preserve inscrutability when you did not know what your face looked like. In any case， mere control of the features was not enough. For the first time he perceived that if you want to keep a secret you must also hide it from yourself. You must know all the while that it is there， but until it is needed you must never let it emerge into your consciousness in any shape that could be given a name. From now onwards he must not only think right； he must feel right， dream right. And all the while he must keep his hatred locked up inside him like a ball of matter which was part of himself and yet unconnected with the rest of him， a kind of cyst.
One day they would decide to shoot him. You could not tell when it would happen， but a few seconds beforehand it should be possible to guess. It was always from behind， walking down a corridor. Ten seconds would be enough. In that time the world inside him could turn over. And then suddenly， without a word uttered， without a check in his step， without the changing of a line in his face — suddenly the camouflage would be down and bang！ would go the batteries of his hatred. Hatred would fill him like an enormous roaring flame. And almost in the same instant bang！ would go the bullet， too late， or too early. They would have blown his brain to pieces before they could reclaim it. The heretical thought would be unpunished， unrepented， out of their reach for ever. They would have blown a hole in their own perfection. To die hating them， that was freedom. He shut his eyes. It was more difficult than accepting an intellectual discipline. It was a question of degrading himself， mutilating himself. He had got to plunge into the filthiest of filth. What was the most horrible， sickening thing of all？ He thought of Big Brother. The enormous face （because of constantly seeing it on posters he always thought of it as being a metre wide）， with its heavy black moustache and the eyes that followed you to and fro， seemed to float into his mind of its own accord. What were his true feelings towards Big Brother？
There was a heavy tramp of boots in the passage. The steel door swung open with a clang. O’Brien walked into the cell. Behind him were the waxen-faced officer and the black-uniformed guards.
“Get up，”said O’Brien.“Come here.”
Winston stood opposite him. O’Brien took Winston’s shoulders between his strong hands and looked at him closely.
“You have had thoughts of deceiving me，”he said.“That was stupid. Stand up straighter. Look me in the face.”
He paused， and went on in a gentler tone：
“You are improving. Intellectually there is very little wrong with you. It is only emotionally that you have failed to make progress. Tell me， Winston — and remember， no lies： you know that I am always able to detect a lie — tell me， what are your true feelings towards Big Brother？”
“I hate him.”
“You hate him. Good. Then the time has come for you to take the last step. You must love Big Brother. It is not enough to obey him： you must love him.”
He released Winston with a little push towards the guards.
“Room 101，”he said.
英文二十三
At each stage of his imprisonment he had known， or seemed to know， whereabouts he was in the windowless building. Possibly there were slight differences in the air pressure. The cells where the guards had beaten him were below ground level. The room where he had been interrogated by O’Brien was high up near the roof. This place was many metres underground， as deep down as it was possible to go.
It was bigger than most of the cells he had been in. But he hardly noticed his surroundings. All he noticed was that there were two small tables straight in front of him， each covered with green baize. One was only a metre or two from him， the other was further away， near the door. He was strapped upright in a chair， so tightly that he could move nothing， not even his head. A sort of pad gripped his head from behind， forcing him to look straight in front of him.
For a moment he was alone， then the door opened and O’Brien came in.
“You asked me once，”said O"Brien，“what was in Room 101. I told you that you knew the answer already. Everyone knows it. The thing that is in Room 101 is the worst thing in the world.”The door opened again. A guard came in， carrying something made of wire， a box or basket of some kind. He set it down on the further table. Because of the position in which O’Brien was standing. Winston could not see what the thing was.
“The worst thing in the world，” said O’Brien，“varies from individual to individual. It may be burial alive， or death by fire， or by drowning， or by impalement， or fifty other deaths. There are cases where it is some quite trivial thing， not even fatal.”
He had moved a little to one side， so that Winston had a better view of the thing on the table. It was an oblong wire cage with a handle on top for carrying it by. Fixed to the front of it was something that looked like a fencing mask， with the concave side outwards. Although it was three or four metres away from him， he could see that the cage was divided lengthways into two compartments， and that there was some kind of creature in each. They were rats.
“In your case， ”said O’Brien，“the worst thing in the world happens to be rats.”
