emotions which he himself had to re-learn by conscious
effort. And in thinking this he remembered, without apparent relevance, how
a few weeks ago he had seen a severed hand lying on the pavement and had
kicked it into the gutter as though it had been a cabbage-stalk.
'The proles are human beings,' he said aloud. 'We are not human.'
'Why not?' said Julia, who had woken up again.
He thought for a little while. 'Has it ever occurred to you,' he said,
'that the best thing for us to do would be simply to walk out of here
before it's too late, and never see each other again?'
'Yes, dear, it has occurred to me, several times. But I'm not going to
do it, all the same.'
'We've been lucky,' he said 'but it can't last much longer. You're
young. You look normal and innocent. If you keep clear of people like me,
you might stay alive for another fifty years.'
'No. I've thought it all out. What you do, I'm going to do. And don't
be too downhearted. I'm rather good at staying alive.'
'We may be together for another six months -- a year -- there's no
knowing. At the end we're certain to be apart. Do you realize how utterly
alone we shall be? When once they get hold of us there will be nothing,
literally nothing, that either of us can do for the other. If I confess,
they'll shoot you, and if I refuse to confess, they'll shoot you just the
same. Nothing that I can do or say, or stop myself from saying, will p