He must, he thought, have been ten or eleven years old when his mother had disappeared. She was a tall, statuesque, rather silent woman with slow movements and magnificent fair hair. His father he remembered more vaguely1 as dark and thin, dressed always in neat dark clothes (Winston remembered especially the very thin soles of his father's shoes) and wearing spectacles. The two of them must evidently have been swallowed up in one of the first great purges2 of the fifties.
At this moment his mother was sitting in some place deep down beneath him, with his young sister in her arms. He did not remember his sister at all, except as a tiny, feeble baby, always silent, with large, watchful3 eyes. Both of them were looking up at him. They were down in some subterranean4 place -- the bottom of a well, for instance, or a very deep grave -- but it was a place which, already far below him, was itself moving downwards5. They were in the saloon of a sinking ship, looking up at him through the darkening water. There was still air in the saloon, they could still see him and he them, but all the while they were sinking down, down into the green waters which in another moment must hide them from sight for ever. He was out in the light and air while they were being sucked down to death, and they were down there because he was up here. He knew it and they knew it, and he could see the knowledge in their faces. There was no reproach either in their faces or in their hearts, only the knowledge that they must die in order that he might remain alive, and that this was part of the unavoidable order of things.
He could not remember what had happened, but he knew in his dream that in some way the lives of his mother and his sister had been sacrificed to his own. It was one of those dreams which, while retaining the characteristic dream scenery, are a continuation of one's intellectual life, and in which one becomes aware of facts and ideas which still seem new and valuable after one is awake. The thing that now suddenly struck Winston was that his mother's death, nearly thirty years ago, had been tragic6 and sorrowful in a way that was no longer possible. Tragedy, he perceived, belonged to the ancient time, to a time when there was still privacy, love, and friendship, and when the members of a family stood by one another without needing to know the reason. His mother's memory tore at his heart because she had died loving him, when he was too young and selfish to love her in return, and because somehow, he did not remember how, she had sacrificed herself to a conception of loyalty7 that was private and unalterable. Such things, he saw, could not happen today. Today there were fear, hatred8, and pain, but no dignity of emotion, no deep or complex sorrows. All this he seemed to see in the large eyes of his mother and his sister, looking up at him through the green water, hundreds of fathoms9 down and still sinking.
Suddenly he was standing10 on short springy turf, on a summer evening when the slanting11 rays of the sun gilded12 the ground. The landscape that he was looking at recurred13 so often in his dreams that he was never fully14 certain whether or not he had seen it in the real world. In his waking thoughts he called it the Golden Country. It was an old, rabbit-bitten pasture, with a foot-track wandering across it and a molehill here and there. In the ragged15 hedge on the opposite side of the field the boughs16 of the elm trees were swaying very faintly in the breeze, their leaves just stirring in dense17 masses like women's hair. Somewhere near at hand, though out of sight, there was a clear, slow-moving stream where dace were swimming in the pools under the willow18 trees.
The girl with dark hair was coming towards them across the field. With what seemed a single movement she tore off her clothes and flung them disdainfully aside. Her body was white and smooth, but it aroused no desire in him, indeed he barely looked at it. What overwhelmed him in that instant was admiration19 for the gesture with which she had thrown her clothes aside. With its grace and carelessness it seemed to annihilate20 a whole culture, a whole system of thought, as though Big Brother and the Party and the Thought Police could all be swept into nothingness by a single splendid movement of the arm. That too was a gesture belonging to the ancient time. Winston woke up with the word 'Shakespeare' on his lips.
The telescreen was giving forth21 an ear-splitting whistle which continued on the same note for thirty seconds. It was nought22 seven fifteen, getting-up time for office workers. Winston wrenched23 his body out of bed -- naked, for a member of the Outer Party received only 3,000 clothing coupons24 annually25, and a suit of pyjamas26 was 600 -- and seized a dingy27 singlet and a pair of shorts that were lying across a chair. The Physical Jerks would begin in three minutes. The next moment he was doubled up by a violent coughing fit which nearly always attacked him soon after waking up. It emptied his lungs so completely that he could only begin breathing again by lying on his back and taking a series of deep gasps28. His veins29 had swelled30 with the effort of the cough, and the varicose ulcer31 had started itching32.
'Thirty to forty group!' yapped a piercing female voice. 'Thirty to forty group! Take your places, please. Thirties to forties!'
Winston sprang to attention in front of the telescreen, upon which the image of a youngish woman, scrawny but muscular, dressed in tunic33 and gym-shoes, had already appeared.
'Arms bending and stretching!' she rapped out. 'Take your time by me. One, two, three, four! One, two, three, four! Come on, comrades, put a bit of life into it! One, two, three, four! One, two, three, four! ...'
The pain of the coughing fit had not quite driven out of Winston's mind the impression made by his dream, and the rhythmic34 movements of the exercise restored it somewhat. As he mechanically shot his arms back and forth, wearing on his face the look of grim enjoyment35 which was considered proper during the Physical Jerks, he was struggling to think his way backward into the dim period of his early childhood. It was extraordinarily36 difficult. Beyond the late fifties everything faded. When there were no external records that you could refer to, even the outline of your own life lost its sharpness. You remembered huge events which had quite probably not happened, you remembered the detail of incidents without being able to recapture their atmosphere, and there were long blank periods to which you could assign nothing. Everything had been different then. Even the names of countries, and their shapes on the map, had been different. Airstrip One, for instance, had not been so called in those days: it had been called England or Britain, though London, he felt fairly certain, had always been called London.
Winston could not definitely remember a time when his country had not been at war, but it was evident that there had been a fairly long interval37 of peace during his childhood, because one of his early memories was of an air raid which appeared to take everyone by surprise. Perhaps it was the time when the atomic bomb had fallen on Colchester. He did not remember the raid itself, but he did remember his father's hand clutching his own as they hurried down, down, down into some place deep in the earth, round and round a spiral staircase which rang under his feet and which finally so wearied his legs that he began whimpering and they had to stop and rest. His mother, in her slow, dreamy way, was following a long way behind them. She was carrying his baby sister -- or perhaps it was only a bundle of blankets that she was carrying: he was not certain whether his sister had been born then. Finally they had emerged into a noisy, crowded place which he had realized to be a Tube station.
There were people sitting all over the stone-flagged floor, and other people, packed tightly together, were sitting on metal bunks39, one above the other. Winston and his mother and father found themselves a place on the floor, and near them an old man and an old woman were sitting side by side on a bunk38. The old man had on a decent dark suit and a black cloth cap pushed back from very white hair: his face was scarlet40 and his eyes were blue and full of tears. He reeked41 of gin. It seemed to breathe out of his skin in place of sweat, and one could have fancied that the tears welling from his eyes were pure gin. But though slightly drunk he was also suffering under some grief that was genuine and unbearable42. In his childish way Winston grasped that some terrible thing, something that was beyond forgiveness and could never be remedied, had just happened. It also seemed to him that he knew what it was. Someone whom the old man loved -- a little granddaughter, perhaps had been killed. Every few minutes the old man kept repeating:
'We didn't ought to 'ave trusted 'em. I said so, Ma, didn't I? That's what comes of trusting 'em. I said so all along. We didn't ought to 'ave trusted the buggers.
But which buggers they didn't ought to have trusted Winston could not now remember.
Since about that time, war had been literally43 continuous, though strictly44 speaking it had not always been the same war. For several months during his childhood there had been confused street fighting in London itself, some of which he remembered vividly45. But to trace out the history of the whole period, to say who was fighting whom at any given moment, would have been utterly46 impossible, since no written record, and no spoken word, ever made mention of any other alignment47 than the existing one. At this moment, for example, in 1984 (if it was 1984), Oceania was at war with Eurasia and in alliance with Eastasia. In no public or private utterance48 was it ever admitted that the three powers had at any time been grouped along different lines. Actually, as Winston well knew, it was only four years since Oceania had been at war with Eastasia and in alliance with Eurasia. But that was merely a piece of furtive50 knowledge which he happened to possess because his memory was not satisfactorily under control. Officially the change of partners had never happened. Oceania was at war with Eurasia: therefore Oceania had always been at war with Eurasia. The enemy of the moment always represented absolute evil, and it followed that any past or future agreement with him was impossible.
The frightening thing, he reflected for the ten thousandth time as he forced his shoulders painfully backward (with hands on hips51, they were gyrating their bodies from the waist, an exercise that was supposed to be good for the back muscles) -- the frightening thing was that it might all be true. If the Party could thrust its hand into the past and say of this or that event, it never happened -- that, surely, was more terrifying than mere49 torture and death?
The Party said that Oceania had never been in alliance with Eurasia. He, Winston Smith, knew that Oceania had been in alliance with Eurasia as short a time as four years ago. But where did that knowledge exist? Only in his own consciousness, which in any case must soon be annihilated52. And if all others accepted the lie which the Party imposed -if all records told the same tale -- then the lie passed into history and became truth. 'Who controls the past,' ran the Party slogan, 'controls the future: who controls the present controls the past.' And yet the past, though of its nature alterable, never had been altered. Whatever was true now was true from everlasting53 to everlasting. It was quite simple. All that was needed was an unending series of victories over your own memory. 'Reality control', they called it: in Newspeak, 'doublethink'.
'Stand easy!' barked the instructress, a little more genially54.
Winston sank his arms to his sides and slowly refilled his lungs with air. His mind slid away into the labyrinthine55 world of doublethink. To know and not to know, to be conscious of complete truthfulness56 while telling carefully constructed lies, to hold simultaneously57 two opinions which cancelled out, knowing them to be contradictory58 and believing in both of them, to use logic59 against logic, to repudiate60 morality while laying claim to it, to believe that democracy was impossible and that the Party was the guardian61 of democracy, to forget whatever it was necessary to forget, then to draw it back into memory again at the moment when it was needed, and then promptly62 to forget it again: and above all, to apply the same process to the process itself. That was the ultimate subtlety63: consciously to induce unconsciousness, and then, once again, to become unconscious of the act of hypnosis you had just performed. Even to understand the word 'doublethink' involved the use of doublethink.
The instructress had called them to attention again. 'And now let's see which of us can touch our toes!' she said enthusiastically. 'Right over from the hips, please, comrades. One-two! One- two! ...'
Winston loathed64 this exercise, which sent shooting pains all the way from his heels to his buttocks and often ended by bringing on another coughing fit. The half-pleasant quality went out of his meditations65. The past, he reflected, had not merely been altered, it had been actually destroyed. For how could you establish even the most obvious fact when there existed no record outside your own memory? He tried to remember in what year he had first heard mention of Big Brother. He thought it must have been at some time in the sixties, but it was impossible to be certain. In the Party histories, of course, Big Brother figured as the leader and guardian of the Revolution since its very earliest days. His exploits had been gradually pushed backwards66 in time until already they extended into the fabulous67 world of the forties and the thirties, when the capitalists in their strange cylindrical68 hats still rode through the streets of London in great gleaming motor-cars or horse carriages with glass sides. There was no knowing how much of this legend was true and how much invented. Winston could not even remember at what date the Party itself had come into existence. He did not believe he had ever heard the word Ingsoc before 1960, but it was possible that in its Oldspeak form -- 'English Socialism', that is to say -- it had been current earlier. Everything melted into mist. Sometimes, indeed, you could put your finger on a definite lie. It was not true, for example, as was claimed in the Party history books, that the Party had invented aeroplanes. He remembered aeroplanes since his earliest childhood. But you could prove nothing. There was never any evidence. Just once in his whole life he had held in his hands unmistakable documentary proof of the falsification of an historical fact. And on that occasion --
'Smith!' screamed the shrewish voice from the telescreen. '6079 Smith W.! Yes, you! Bend lower, please! You can do better than that. You're not trying. Lower, please! That's better, comrade. Now stand at ease, the whole squad69, and watch me.'
A sudden hot sweat had broken out all over Winston's body. His face remained completely inscrutable. Never show dismay! Never show resentment70! A single flicker71 of the eyes could give you away. He stood watching while the instructress raised her arms above her head and -- one could not say gracefully72, but with remarkable73 neatness and efficiency -- bent74 over and tucked the first joint75 of her fingers under her toes.
'There, comrades! That's how I want to see you doing it. Watch me again. I'm thirty-nine and I've had four children. Now look.' She bent over again. 'You see my knees aren't bent. You can all do it if you want to,' she added as she straightened herself up. 'Anyone under forty-five is perfectly76 capable of touching77 his toes. We don't all have the privilege of fighting in the front line, but at least we can all keep fit. Remember our boys on the Malabar front! And the sailors in the Floating Fortresses78! Just think what they have to put up with. Now try again. That's better, comrade, that's much better,' she added encouragingly as Winston, with a violent lunge, succeeded in touching his toes with knees unbent, for the first time in several years.
温斯顿梦见他的母亲。
他想，他母亲失踪的时候他大概是十岁，或者十一岁。
她是个体格高大健美，但是沉默寡言的妇女，动作缓慢，一头浓密的金发。至于他的父亲，他的记忆更淡薄了，只模糊地记得是个瘦瘦黑黑的人，总是穿着一身整齐深色的衣服(温斯顿格外记得他父亲鞋跟特别薄)，戴一副眼镜。他们两人显然一定是在五十年代第一批大清洗的时候绘吞噬掉的。
现在他母亲坐在他下面很深的一个地方，怀里抱着他的妹妹。他一点也记不得他的妹妹了，只记得她是个纤弱的小婴孩，有一双留心注意的大眼睛，总是一声不响。她们两人都抬头看着他。她们是在下面地下的一个地方——比如说在一个井底里，或者在一个很深很深的坟墓里——但是这个地方虽然在他下面很深的地方，却还在下沉。她们是在一艘沉船的客厅里，通过越来越发黑的海水抬头看着他。客厅里仍有些空气，她们仍旧能看见他，他也仍旧能看见她们，但是她们一直在往下沉，下沉到绿色的海水中，再过一会儿就会把她们永远淹没不见了。他在光亮和空气中，她们却被吸下去死掉，她们所以在下面是因为(because)他在上面。他知道这个原因，她们也知道这个原因，他可以从她们的脸上看到她们是知道的。她们的脸上或心里都没有责备的意思，只是知道，为了使他能够活下去，她们必须死去，而这就是事情的不可避免的规律。
他记不得发生了什么，但是他在梦中知道，在一定意义上来说，他的母亲和妹妹为了他牺牲了自己的性命。这是这样一种梦，它保持了梦境的特点，但也是一个人的精神生活的继续，在这样的梦中，你碰到的一些事实和念头，醒来时仍觉得新鲜、有价值。现在温斯顿突然想起，快三十年以前他母亲的死是那么悲惨可哀，这样的死法如今已不再可能了。他认为，悲剧是属于古代的事，是属于仍旧有私生活、爱情和友谊的时代的事，在那个时代里，一家人都相互支援，不用问个为什么。他对母亲的记忆使他感到心痛难受，因为她为爱他而死去，而他当时却年幼、自私，不知怎样用爱来报答，因为不知怎么样——他不记得具体情况了——她为了一种内心的、不可改变的忠贞概念而牺牲了自己。他明白，这样的事情今天不会发生了。今天有的是恐惧、仇恨、痛苦，却没有感情的尊严，没有深切的或复杂的悲痛。所有这一切，他似乎从他母亲和妹妹的大眼睛中看到了，她们从绿色的深水中抬头向他看望，已经有几百寻深了，却还在往下沉。
突然他站在一条短短的松软的草地上，那是个夏天的黄昏，西斜的阳光把地上染成一片金黄色。他这时看到的景色时常在他的梦境中出现，因此一直没有充分把握，在实际世界中有没有见过。他醒来的时候想到这个地方时就叫它黄金乡。这是一片古老的、被兔子啃掉的草地，中间有一条足迹踩踏出来的小径，到处有田鼠打的洞。在草地那边的灌木丛中，榆树枝在微风中轻轻摇晃，簇簇树叶微微颤动，好象女人的头发一样。手边近处，虽然没有看见，却有一条清澈的缓慢的溪流，有小鲤鱼在柳树下的水潭中游弋。
那个黑发姑娘从田野那头向他走来，她好象一下子就脱掉了衣服，不屑地把它们扔在一边。她的身体白皙光滑，但引不起他的性欲；说真的，他看也不看她。这个时候他压倒的感情是钦佩她扔掉衣服的姿态。她用这种优雅的、毫不在乎的姿态，似乎把整个文化，整个思想制度都消灭掉了，好象老大哥、党、思想警察可以这么胳膊一挥就一扫而空似的。这个姿态也是属于古代的。温斯顿嘴唇上挂着“莎士比亚”这个名字醒了过来。
原来这时电幕上发出一阵刺耳的笛子声，单调地持续了约三十秒钟。时间是七点十五分，是办公室工作人员起床的时候。温斯顿勉强起了床——全身赤裸，因为外围党员一年只有三千张布票，而一套睡衣裤却要六百张——从椅子上拎过一件发黄的汗背心和一条短裤叉。体操在三分钟内就要开始。这时他忽然剧烈地咳嗽起来，他每次醒来几乎总是要咳嗽大发作的，咳得他伸不直腰，一直咳得把肺腔都咳清了，在床上躺了一会儿，深深地喘几口气以后，才能恢复呼吸。这时他咳得青筋毕露，静脉曲张的地方又痒了起来。
“三十岁到四十岁的一组！”一个刺耳的女人声音叫道。
“三十岁到四十岁的一组！请你们站好。三十岁到四十岁的！”
温斯顿连忙跳到电幕前站好，电幕上出现了一个年轻妇女的形象，虽然骨瘦如柴，可是肌肉发达，她穿着一身运动衣裤和球鞋。
“屈伸胳膊！”她叫道。“跟着我一起做。一、二、三、四！
一、二、三、四！同志们，拿出精神来！一、二、三、四！
一、二、三、四！……”
咳嗽发作所引起的肺部剧痛还没有驱散温斯顿的梦境在他心中留下的印象，有节奏的体操动作却反而有点恢复了这种印象。他一边机械地把胳膊一屈一伸，脸上挂着做体操时所必须挂着的高兴笑容，一边拼命回想他幼年时代的模糊记忆。这很困难。五十年代初期以前的事，一切都淡薄了。没有具体的纪录可以参考，甚至你自己生平的轮廓也模糊不清了。你记得重大的事件，但这种事件很可能根本没有发生过，你记得有些事件的详情细节，却不能重新体会到当时的气氛。还有一些很长的空白时期，你记不起发生了什么。当时什么情况都与现在不同。甚至国家的名字、地图上的形状都与现在不同。例如，一号空降场当时并不叫这个名字：当时他叫英格兰，或者不列颠，不过伦敦则一直叫伦敦，这一点他相当有把握的。
温斯顿不能肯定地记得有什么时候他们国家不是在打仗的，不过很明显，在他的童年时代曾经有一个相当长的和平时期，因为他有一个早期的记忆是：有一次发生空袭似乎叫大家都吃了一惊。也许那就是原子弹扔在科尔彻斯特那一次。空袭本身，他已记不得了，可是他确记得他的父亲抓住他自己的手，一起急急忙忙往下走，往下走，绕着他脚底下的那条螺旋形扶梯到地底下去，一直走到他双腿酸软，开始哭闹，他们才停下来休息。他的母亲象梦游一般行动迟缓，远远地跟在后面。她抱着他的小妹妹——也很可能抱的是几条毯子；因为他记不清那时他的妹妹生下来了没有。最后他们到了一个人声喧哗、拥挤不堪的地方，原来是个地铁车站。
在石板铺的地上到处都坐满了人，双层铁铺上也坐满了人，一个高过一个。温斯顿和他的父母亲在地上找到了一个地方，在他们近旁有一个老头儿和老太太并肩坐在一张铁铺上。那个老头儿穿着一身很不错的深色衣服，后脑勺戴着一顶黑布帽，露出一头白发；他的脸涨得通红，蓝色的眼睛里满孕泪水。他发出一阵酒气，好象代替汗水从皮肤中排泄出来一般，使人感到他眼睛里涌出来的也是纯酒。不过他虽然有点醉了，却的确有着不能忍受的悲痛。温斯顿幼稚的心灵里感到，一定有件什么可怕的事情，有件不能原谅、也永远无可挽回的事情，在他身上发生了。他也似乎觉得他知道这是件什么事情。那个老头儿心爱的人，也许是个小孙女，给炸死了。那个老头儿每隔几分钟就唠叨着说：
“我们不应该相信他们的。我是这么说的，孩子他妈，是不是？这就是相信他们的结果。我一直是这么说的。我们不应该相信那些窝囊废的。”
可是他们究竟不应该相信哪些窝囊废，温斯顿却记不起来了。
从那一次以后，战争几乎连绵不断，不过严格地来说，并不是同一场战争。在他童年的时候，曾经有几个月之久，伦敦发生了混乱的巷战，有些巷战他还清晰地记得。但是要记清楚整个时期的历史，要说清楚在某一次谁同谁打仗，却是完全办不到的，因为除了现在那个同盟以外，没有书面的记录，也没有明白的言语，曾经提到过有另外的同盟。例如，在目前，即l984年(如果是1984年的话)，大洋国在同欧亚国打仗而与东亚国结盟。但是不论在公开的或私下的谈话中都没有承认过这三大国曾经有过不同的结盟关系。事实上，温斯顿也很清楚，就在四年之前，大洋国就同东亚国打过仗，而同欧亚国结过盟。但是这不过是他由于记忆控制不严而偶然保留下来的一鳞半爪的知识而已。从官方来说，盟友关系从来没有发生过转变。既然大洋国在同欧亚国打仗，他就是一直在同欧亚国打仗。当前的敌人总是代表着绝对邪恶的势力，因此不论是过去或者未来，都不会同它有什么一致的可能。
他一边把肩膀尽量地往后挺(把手托在屁股上，从腰部以上回旋着上身，据说这种体操对背部肌肉有好处)，一边想——这样想几乎已有上千次，上万次了——可怕的是，这可能确实如此。如果党能够插手到过去之中，说这件事或那件事从来没有发生过(it neverhappened)，那么这肯定比仅仅拷打或者死亡更加可怕。
党说大洋国从来没有同欧亚国结过盟。他，温斯顿史密斯知道大洋国近在四年之前还曾经同欧亚国结过盟。但是这种知识存在于什么地方呢？只存在于他自己的意识之中，而他的意识反正很快就要被消灭的。如果别人都相信党说的谎话——如果所有记录都这么说——那么这个谎言就载入历史而成为真理。党的一句口号说，“谁控制过去就控制未来；谁控制现在就控制过去。”虽然从其性质来说，过去是可以改变的，但是却从来没有改变过。凡是现在是正确的东西，永远也是正确的。这很简单。所需要的只是一而再再而三，无休无止地克服你自己的记忆。他们把这叫做“现实控制”；用新话来说是“双重思想”。
“稍息！”女教练喊道，口气稍为温和了一些。
温斯顿放下胳膊，慢慢地吸了一口气。他的思想滑到了双重思想的迷宫世界里去了。知与不知，知道全部真实情况而却扯一些滴水不漏的谎话，同时持两种互相抵消的观点，明知它们互相矛盾而仍都相信，用逻辑来反逻辑，一边表示拥护道德一边又否定道德，一边相信民主是办不到的一边又相信党是民主的捍卫者，忘掉一切必须忘掉的东西而又在需要的时候想起它来，然后又马上忘掉它，而尤其是，把这样的做法应用到做法本身上面——这可谓绝妙透顶了：有意识地进入无意识，而后又并不意识到你刚才完成的催眠。即使要了解“双重思想”的含义你也得使用双重思想。
女教练又叫他们立正了。“现在看谁能碰到脚趾！”她热清地说。“从腰部向下弯，同志们，请开始。一——二！一——二！……”
温斯顿最恨这一节体操，因为这使他从脚踵到屁股都感到一阵剧痛，最后常常又引起咳嗽的发作。他原来在沉思中感到的一点点乐趣已化为乌有。他觉得，过去不但被改变了，而且被实际毁掉了。因为，如果除了你自己的记忆以外不存在任何记录，那你怎么能够确定哪怕是最明显的事实呢？他想回想一下从哪一年开始他第一次听到老大哥的名字的。他想这大概是在六十年代，但是无法确定。当然，在党史里，老大哥是从建党开始时起就一直是革命的领导人和捍卫者的。他的业绩在时间上已逐步往回推溯，一直推到四十年代和三十年代那个传奇般的年代，那时资本家们仍旧戴着他们奇形怪状的高礼帽、坐在锃亮的大汽车里或者两边镶着玻璃窗的马车里驶过伦敦的街道。无法知道，这种传说有几分是真，几分是假。温斯顿甚至记不起党的具体生日。他觉得在l960年以前没有听到过英社一词，但也很可能，这一词在老话中——即“英国社会主义”——可能在此以前就流行了。一切都融化在迷雾之中。说真的，有的时候你可以明确指出什么话是谎话。比如，党史中说，飞机是党发明的，这并不确。他从小起就记得飞机。但是你无法证明。什么证据都从来没有过。他一生之中只有一次掌握了无可置疑的证据，可以证实有一个历史事实是伪造的。而那一次——
“史密斯！”电幕上尖声叫道。“6079号的温史密斯！是的，就是你(you)！再弯得低一些！你完全做得到。你没有尽你的力量。低一些！这样(That's)好多了，同志。现在全队稍息，看我的。”
温斯顿全身汗珠直冒。他的脸部表情仍令人莫测究竟。
可千万不能露出不快的神色！千万不能露出不满的神色！眼光一闪，就会暴露你自己。他站着看那女教练把胳臂举起来——谈不上姿态优美，可是相当干净利落——弯下身来，手指尖碰到了脚趾。
“这样(There)，同志们，我要看到你们都这样做。再看我来一遍。我已三十九岁了，有四个孩子。可是瞧。”她又弯下身去。“你们看到，我的膝盖没有弯曲。你们只要有决心都能做到，”她一边说一边伸起腰来。“四十五岁以下的人都能碰到脚趾。咱们并不是人人都有机会到前线去作战，可是至少可以做到保持身体健康。请记住咱们在马拉巴前线的弟兄们！水上堡垒上的水兵们！想一想，他们(they)得经受什么艰苦的考验。现在再来一次。好多了，同志，好多了，”她看到温斯顿猛的向前弯下腰来，膝盖挺直不屈，终于碰到了脚趾，就鼓励地说。这是他多年来的第一次。
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1
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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purges
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| 清除异己( purge的名词复数 )； 整肃（行动）； 清洗； 泻药 | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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subterranean
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| adj.地下的，地表下的 | |
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downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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fathoms
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| 英寻( fathom的名词复数 ) | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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recurred
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| 再发生，复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 )； 治愈 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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annihilate
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| v.使无效；毁灭；取消 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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nought
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| n.／adj.无，零 | |
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wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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coupons
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| n.礼券( coupon的名词复数 )；优惠券；订货单；参赛表 | |
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annually
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| adv.一年一次，每年 | |
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pyjamas
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| n.（宽大的）睡衣裤 | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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gasps
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| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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ulcer
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| n.溃疡，腐坏物 | |
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itching
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| adj.贪得的，痒的，渴望的v.发痒( itch的现在分词 ) | |
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tunic
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| n.束腰外衣 | |
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rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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bunks
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| n.（车、船等倚壁而设的）铺位( bunk的名词复数 )；空话，废话v.（车、船等倚壁而设的）铺位( bunk的第三人称单数 )；空话，废话 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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reeked
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的过去式和过去分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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alignment
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| n.队列；结盟，联合 | |
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utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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50
furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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51
hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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52
annihilated
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| v.（彻底）消灭( annihilate的过去式和过去分词 )；使无效；废止；彻底击溃 | |
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53
everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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54
genially
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| adv.亲切地，和蔼地；快活地 | |
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labyrinthine
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| adj.如迷宫的；复杂的 | |
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truthfulness
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| n. 符合实际 | |
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simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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contradictory
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| adj.反驳的，反对的，抗辩的；n.正反对，矛盾对立 | |
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59
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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60
repudiate
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| v.拒绝，拒付，拒绝履行 | |
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61
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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subtlety
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| n.微妙，敏锐，精巧；微妙之处，细微的区别 | |
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64
loathed
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| v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的过去式和过去分词 )；极不喜欢 | |
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65
meditations
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| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
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66
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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67
fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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cylindrical
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| adj.圆筒形的 | |
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69
squad
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| n.班，小队，小团体；vt.把…编成班或小组 | |
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70
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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71
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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72
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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73
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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74
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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75
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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76
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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fortresses
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| 堡垒，要塞( fortress的名词复数 ) | |
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