the pair of
them, and the expression on his face was still indecipherable. He was
waiting, somewhat sternly, for Winston to speak, but about what? Even now
it was quite conceivable that he was simply a busy man wondering irritably
why he had been interrupted. Nobody spoke. After the stopping of the
telescreen the room seemed deadly silent. The seconds marched past,
enormous. With difficulty Winston continued to keep his eyes fixed on
O'Brien's. Then suddenly the grim face broke down into what might have been
the beginnings of a smile. With his characteristic gesture O'Brien
resettled his spectacles on his nose.
'Shall I say it, or will you?' he said.
'I will say it,' said Winston promptly. 'That thing is really turned
off?'
'Yes, everything is turned off. We are alone.'
'We have come here because--'
He paused, realizing for the first time the vagueness of his own
motives. Since he did not in fact know what kind of help he expected from
O'Brien, it was not easy to say why he had come here. He went on, conscious
that what he was saying must sound both feeble and pretentious:
'We believe that there is some kind of conspiracy, some kind of secret
organization working against the Party, and that you are involved in it. We
want to join it and work for it. We are enemies of the Party. We disbelieve
in the principles of Ingsoc. We are thought-criminals. We are also
adulterers. I tell you this because we want to put ourselves at your mercy.
If you want us to incriminate ourselves in any other way, we are ready.'
He stopped and glanced over his shoulder, with the feeling that the
door had opened. Sure enough, the little yellow-faced servant had come in
without knocking. Winston saw that he was carrying a tray with a decanter
and glasses.
'Martin is one of