to him. Perhaps there would even be a message concealed
somewhere in the dictionary. But at any rate, one thing was certain. The
conspiracy that he had dreamed of did exist, and he had reached the outer
edges of it.
He knew that sooner or later he would obey O'Brien's summons. Perhaps
tomorrow, perhaps after a long delay -- he was not certain. What was
happening was only the working-out of a process that had started years ago.
The first step had been a secret, involuntary thought, the second had been
the opening of the diary. He had moved from thoughts to words, and now from
words to actions. The last step was something that would happen in the
Ministry of Love. He had accepted it. The end was contained in the
beginning. But it was frightening: or, more exactly, it was like a
foretaste of death, like being a little less alive. Even while he was
speaking to O'Brien, when the meaning of the words had sunk in, a chilly
shuddering feeling had taken possession