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bigger than most of the cells he had been in. But he hardly
noticed his surroundings. All he noticed was that there were two small
tables straight in front of him, each covered with green baize. One was
only a metre or two from him, the other was further away, near the door. He
was strapped upright in a chair, so tightly that he could move nothing, not
even his head. A sort of pad gripped his head from behind, forcing him to
look straight in front of him.
For a moment he was alone, then the door opened and O'Brien came in.
'You asked me once,' said O'Brien, 'what was in Room 101. I told you
that you knew the answer already. Everyone knows it. The thing that is in
Room 101 is the worst thing in the world.'
The door opened again. A guard came in, carrying something made of
wire, a box or basket of some kind. He set it down on the further table.
Because of the position in which O'Brien was standing. Winston could not
see what the thing was.
'The worst thing in the world,' said O'Brien, 'varies from individual
to individual. It may be burial alive, or death by fire, or by drowning, or
by impalement, or fifty other deaths. There are cases where it is some
quite trivial thing, not even fatal.'
He had moved a little to one side, so that Winston had a better view
of the thing on the table. It was an oblong wire cage with a handle on top
for carrying it by. Fixed to the front of it was something that looked like
a fencing mask, with the concave side outwards. Although it was three or
four metres away from him, he could see that the cage was divided
lengthways into two compartments, and that there was some kind of creature
in each. They were rats.
'In your case,' said O'Brien, 'the worst thing in the world happens to
be rats.'
A sort of premonitory tremor, a fear of he was not certain what, had
passed through Winston as soon