His teeth were set on edge. He would have liked to spit. Simultaneously with the woman in the basement kitchen he thought of Katharine， his wife. Winston was married — had been married， at any rate： probably he still was married， so far as he knew his wife was not dead. He seemed to breathe again the warm stuffy odour of the basement kitchen， an odour compounded of bugs and dirty clothes and villainous cheap scent， but nevertheless alluring， because no woman of the Party ever used scent， or could be imagined as doing so. Only the proles used scent. In his mind the smell of it was inextricably mixed up with fornication.
When he had gone with that woman it had been his first lapse in two years or thereabouts. Consorting with prostitutes was forbidden， of course， but it was one of those rules that you could occasionally nerve yourself to break. It was dangerous， but it was not a life-and-death matter. To be caught with a prostitute might mean five years in a forced-labour camp： not more， if you had committed no other offence. And it was easy enough， provided that you could avoid being caught in the act. The poorer quarters swarmed with women who were ready to sell themselves. Some could even be purchased for a bottle of gin， which the proles were not supposed to drink. Tacitly the Party was even inclined to encourage prostitution， as an outlet for instincts which could not be altogether suppressed. Mere debauchery did not matter very much， so long as it was furtive and joyless and only involved the women of a submerged and despised class. The unforgivable crime was promiscuity between Party members. But — though this was one of the crimes that the accused in the great purges invariably confessed to — it was difficult to imagine any such thing actually happening.
The aim of the Party was not merely to prevent men and women from forming loyalties which it might not be able to control. Its real， undeclared purpose was to remove all pleasure from the sexual act. Not love so much as eroticism was the enemy， inside marriage as well as outside it. All marriages between Party members had to be approved by a committee appointed for the purpose， and — though the principle was never clearly stated — permission was always refused if the couple concerned gave the impression of being physically attracted to one another. The only recognized purpose of marriage was to beget children for the service of the Party.
Sexual intercourse was to be looked on as a slightly disgusting minor operation， like having an enema. This again was never put into plain words， but in an indirect way it was rubbed into every Party member from childhood onwards. There were even organizations such as the Junior Anti-Sex League， which advocated complete celibacy for both sexes. All children were to be begotten by artificial insemination （artsem， it was called in Newspeak） and brought up in public institutions. This， Winston was aware， was not meant altogether seriously， but somehow it fitted in with the general ideology of the Party. The Party was trying to kill the sex instinct， or， if it could not be killed， then to distort it and dirty it. He did not know why this was so， but it seemed natural that it should be so. And as far as the women were concerned， the Party’s efforts were largely successful.
He thought again of Katharine. It must be nine， ten — nearly eleven years since they had parted. It was curious how seldom he thought of her. For days at a time he was capable of forgetting that he had ever been married. They had only been together for about fifteen months. The Party did not permit divorce， but it rather encouraged separation in cases where there were no children.
Katharine was a tall， fair-haired girl， very straight， with splendid movements. She had a bold， aquiline face， a face that one might have called noble until one discovered that there was as nearly as possible nothing behind it. Very early in her married life he had decided —though perhaps it was only that he knew her more intimately than he knew most people — that she had without exception the most stupid， vulgar， empty mind that he had ever encountered. She had not a thought in her head that was not a slogan， and there was no imbecility， absolutely none that she was not capable of swallowing if the Party handed it out to her. “The human sound-track” he nicknamed her in his own mind. Yet he could have endured living with her if it had not been for just one thing — sex.
As soon as he touched her she seemed to wince and stiffen. To embrace her was like embracing a jointed wooden image. And what was strange was that even when she was clasping him against her he had the feeling that she was simultaneously pushing him away with all her strength. The rigidlty of her muscles managed to convey that impression. She would lie there with shut eyes， neither resisting nor co-operating but submitting. It was extraordinarily embarrassing， and， after a while， horrible. But even then he could have borne living with her if it had been agreed that they should remain celibate. But curiously enough it was Katharine who refused this. They must， she said， produce a child if they could. So the performance continued to happen， once a week quite regulariy， whenever it was not impossible. She even used to remind him of it in the morning， as something which had to be done that evening and which must not be forgotten. She had two names for it. One was “making a baby”， and the other was“our duty to the Party” （yes， she had actually used that phrase）. Quite soon he grew to have a feeling of positive dread when the appointed day came round. But luckily no child appeared， and in the end she agreed to give up trying， and soon afterwards they parted.
Winston sighed inaudibly. He picked up his pen again and wrote：