of the vertebrae snapping
apart and the spinal fluid dripping out of them. That is what you are
thinking, is it not, Winston?'
Winston did not answer. O'Brien drew back the lever on the dial. The
wave of pain receded almost as quickly as it had come.
'That was forty,' said O'Brien. 'You can see that the numbers on this
dial run up to a hundred. Will you please remember, throughout our
conversation, that I have it in my power to inflict pain on you at any
moment and to whatever degree I choose? If you tell me any lies, or attempt
to prevaricate in any way, or even fall below your usual level of
intelligence, you will cry out with pain, instantly. Do you understand
that?'
'Yes,' said Winston.
O'Brien's manner became less severe. He resettled his spectacles
thoughtfully, and took a pace or two up and down. When he spoke his voice
was gentle and patient. He had the air of a doctor, a teacher, even a
priest, anxious to explain and persuade rather than to punish.
'I am taking trouble with you, Winston,' he said, 'because you are
worth trouble. You know perfectly well what is the matter with you. You
have known it for years, though you have fought against the knowledge. You
are mentally deranged. You suffer from a defective memory. You are unable
to remember real events and you persuade yourself that you remember other
events which never happened. Fortunately it is curable. You have never
cured yourself of it, because you did not choose to. There