staring look,
as though he could not prevent himself from gazing at something in the
middle distance.
'What are you in for?' said Winston.
'Thoughtcrime!' said Parsons, almost blubbering. The tone of his voice
implied at once a complete admission of his guilt and a sort of incredulous
horror that such a word could be applied to himself. He paused opposite
Winston and began eagerly appealing to him: 'You don't think they'll shoot
me, do you, old chap? They don't shoot you if you haven't actually done
anything -- only thoughts, which you can't help? I know they give you a
fair hearing. Oh, I trust them for that! They'll know my record, won't
they? You know what kind of chap I was. Not a bad chap in my way. Not
brainy, of course, but keen. I tried to do my best for the Party, didn't I?
I'll get off with five years, don't you think? Or even ten years? A chap
like me could make himself pretty useful in a labour-camp. They wouldn't
shoot me for going off the rails just once?'
'Are you guilty?' said Winston.
'Of course I'm guilty!' cried Parsons with a servile glance at the
telescreen. 'You don't think the Party would arrest an innocent man, do
you?' His frog-like face grew calmer, and even took on a slightly
sanctimonious exp