was turned outwards, against the enemies of the State, against
foreigners, traitors, saboteurs, thought-criminals. It was almost normal
for people over thirty to be frightened of their own children. And with
good reason, for hardly a week passed in which the Times did not carry a
paragraph describing how some eavesdropping little sneak -- 'child hero'
was the phrase generally used -- had overheard some compromising remark and
denounced its parents to the Thought Police.
The sting of the catapult bullet had worn off. He picked up his pen
half-heartedly, wondering whether he could find something more to write in
the diary. Suddenly he began thinking of O'Brien again.
Years ago -- how long was it? Seven years it must be -- he had dreamed
that he was walking through a pitch-dark room. And someone sitting to one
side of him had said as he passed: 'We shall meet in the place where there
is no darkness.' It was said very quietly, almost casually -- a statement,
not a command. He had walked on without pausing. What was curious was that
at the time, in the dream, the words had not made much impression on him.
It was only later and by degrees that they had seemed to take on
significance. He could not now remember whether it was before or after
having the dream that he had seen O'Brien for the first time, nor could he
remember when he had first identified the voice as O'Brien's. But at any
rate the identification existed. It was O'Brien who had spoken to him out
of the dark.
Winston had never been