He had stopped because he was frightened. A bowed， grey-coloured， skeleton-like thing was coming towards him. Its actual appearance was frightening， and not merely the fact that he knew it to be himself. He moved closer to the glass. The creature"s face seemed to be protruded， because of its bent carriage. A forlorn， jailbird"s face with a nobby forehead running back into a bald scalp， a crooked nose， and battered-looking cheekbones above which his eyes were fierce and watchful. The cheeks were seamed， the mouth had a drawn-in look. Certainly it was his own face， but it seemed to him that it had changed more than he had changed inside. The emotions it registered would be different from the ones he felt. He had gone partially bald. For the first moment he had thought that he had gone grey as well， but it was only the scalp that was grey. Except for his hands and a circle of his face， his body was grey all over with ancient， ingrained dirt. Here and there under the dirt there were the red scars of wounds， and near the ankle the varicose ulcer was an inflamed mass with flakes of skin peeling off it. But the truly frightening thing was the emaciation of his body. The barrel of the ribs was as narrow as that of a skeleton： the legs had shrunk so that the knees were thicker than the thighs. He saw now what O’Brien had meant about seeing the side view. The curvature of the spine was astonishing. The thin shoulders were hunched forward so as to make a cavity of the chest， the scraggy neck seemed to be bending double under the weight of the skull. At a guess he would have said that it was the body of a man of sixty， suffering from some malignant disease.
“You have thought sometimes，”said O’Brien，“that my face — the face of a member of the Inner Party — looks old and worn. What do you think of your own face？”
He seized Winston’s shoulder and spun him round so that he was facing him.
“Look at the condition you are in！”he said.“Look at this filthy grime all over your body. Look at the dirt between your toes. Look at that disgusting running sore on your leg. Do you know that you stink like a goat？ Probably you have ceased to notice it. Look at your emaciation. Do you see？ I can make my thumb and forefinger meet round your bicep. I could snap your neck like a carrot. Do you know that you have lost twenty-five kilograms since you have been in our hands？ Even your hair is coming out in handfuls. Look！”He plucked at Winston’s head and brought away a tuft of hair.“Open your mouth. Nine， ten， eleven teeth left. How many had you when you came to us？ And the few you have left are dropping out of your head. Look here！”
He seized one of Winston’s remaining front teeth between his powerful thumb and forefinger. A twinge of pain shot through Winston’s jaw. O’Brien had wrenched the loose tooth out by the roots. He tossed it across the cell.
“You are rotting away，”he said；“you are falling to pieces. What are you？ A bag of filth. Now turn around and look into that mirror again. Do you see that thing facing you？ That is the last man. If you are human， that is humanity. Now put your clothes on again.”
Winston began to dress himself with slow stiff movements. Until now he had not seemed to notice how thin and weak he was. Only one thought stirred in his mind： that he must have been in this place longer than he had imagined. Then suddenly as he fixed the miserable rags round himself a feeling of pity for his ruined body overcame him. Before he knew what he was doing he had collapsed on to a small stool that stood beside the bed and burst into tears. He was aware of his ugliness， his gracelessness， a bundle of bones in filthy underclothes sitting weeping in the harsh white light： but he could not stop himself. O’Brien laid a hand on his shoulder， almost kindly.
“It will not last for ever，”he said.“You can escape from it whenever you choose. Everything depends on yourself.”
“You did it！”sobbed Winston.“You reduced me to this state.”
“No， Winston， you reduced yourself to it. This is what you accepted when you set yourself up against the Party. It was all contained in that first act. Nothing has happened that you did not foresee.”
He paused， and then went on：
“We have beaten you， Winston. We have broken you up. You have seen what your body is like. Your mind is in the same state. I do not think there can be much pride left in you. You have been kicked and flogged and insulted， you have screamed with pain， you have rolled on the floor in your own blood and vomit. You have whimpered for mercy， you have betrayed everybody and everything. Can you think of a single degradation that has not happened to you？”
Winston had stopped weeping， though the tears were still oozing out of his eyes. He looked up at O’Brien.
“I have not betrayed Julia，”he said.
O’Brien looked down at him thoughtfully.“No，”he said，“no， that is perfectly true. You have not betrayed Julia.”
The peculiar reverence for O’Brien， which nothing seemed able to destroy， flooded Winston’s heart again. How intelligent， he thought， how intelligent！ Never did O’Brien fail to understand what was said to him. Anyone else on earth would have answered promptly that he had betrayed Julia. For what was there that they had not screwed out of him under the torture？ He had told them everything he knew about her， her habits， her character， her past life； he had confessed in the most trivial detail everything that had happened at their meetings， all that he had said to her and she to him， their black-market meals， their adulteries， their vague plottings against the Party — everything. And yet， in the sense in which he intended the word， he had not betrayed her. He had not stopped loving her； his feelings towards her had remained the same. O’Brien had seen what he meant without the need for explanation.
“Tell me，”he said，“how soon will they shoot me？”“It might be a long time，”said O’Brien.“You are a difficult case. But don’t give up hope. Everyone is cured sooner or later. In the end we shall shoot you.”
英文二十二
He was much better. He was growing fatter and stronger every day， if it was proper to speak of days.