Chapter 1（1）
It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Winston Smith, his chin nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through the glass doors of Victory Mansions, though not quickly enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from entering along with him.
四月间， 天气寒冷晴朗， 钟敲了十三下。温斯顿史密斯为了要躲寒风， 紧缩着脖子， 很快地溜进了胜利大厦的玻璃门， 不过动作不够迅速， 没有能 够防止一阵沙土跟着他刮进了门。
The hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and old rag mats. At one end of it a coloured poster, too large for indoor display, had been tacked to the wall.
门厅里有一股熬白菜和旧地席的气味。 门厅的一头， 有一张彩色的招 贴画钉在墙上， 在室内悬挂略为嫌大了一些。
It depicted simply an enormous face, more than a metre wide: the face of a man of about forty-five, with a heavy black moustache and ruggedly handsome features. Winston made for the stairs. It was no use trying the lift. Even at the best of times it was seldom working, and at present the electric current was cut off during daylight hours. It was part of the economy drive in preparation for Hate Week. The flat was seven flights up, and Winston, who was thirty-nine and had a varicose ulcer above his right ankle, went slowly, resting several times on the way. On each landing, opposite the lift-shaft, the poster with the enormous face gazed from the wall. It was one of those pictures which are so contrived that the eyes follow you about when you move. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU, the caption beneath it ran.
画的是一张很大的面孔， 有一米多宽： 这是一个大约四十五岁的男人 的脸， 留着浓密的黑胡子， 面部线条粗犷英俊。温斯顿朝楼梯走去。用不着 试电梯。 即使最顺利的时候， 电梯也是很少开的， 现在又是白天停电。这是 为了筹备举行仇恨周而实行节约。温斯顿的住所在七层楼上，他三十九岁， 右脚脖子上患静脉曲张， 因此爬得很慢， 一路上休息了好几次。每上一层楼， 正对着电梯门的墙上就有那幅画着很大脸庞的招贴画凝视着。这是属于这样 的一类画， 你不论走到哪里， 画面中的眼光总是跟着你。 下面的文字说明是： 老大哥在看着你。
Inside the flat a fruity voice was reading out a list of figures which had something to do with the production of pig-iron. The voice came from an oblong metal plaque like a dulled mirror which formed part of the surface of the right-hand wall. Winston turned a switch and the voice sank somewhat, though the words were still distinguishable. The instrument (the telescreen, it was called) could be dimmed, but there was no way of shutting it off completely. He moved over to the window: a smallish, frail figure, the meagreness of his body merely emphasized by the blue overalls which were the uniform of the party. His hair was very fair, his face naturally sanguine, his skin roughened by coarse soap and blunt razor blades and the cold of the winter that had just ended.
在他住所里面， 有个圆润的嗓子在念一系列与生铁产量有关的数字。 声音来自一块象毛玻璃一样的椭圆形金属板， 这构成右边墙壁的一部分墙 面。 温斯顿按了一个开关， 声音就轻了一些， 不过说的话仍听得清楚。这个 装置(叫做电幕)可以放低声音， 可是没有办法完全关上。他走到窗边。 他的身材瘦小纤弱， 蓝色的工作服——那是*党**内的制服—— 更加突出了他身子的单薄。他的头发很淡，脸色天生红润，他的皮肤 由于用粗肥皂和钝刀片， 再加上刚刚过去的寒冬， 显得有点粗糙。
Outside, even through the shut window-pane, the world looked cold. Down in the street little eddies of wind were whirling dust and torn paper into spirals, and though the sun was shining and the sky a harsh blue, there seemed to be no colour in anything, except the posters that were plastered everywhere. The black moustachio'd face gazed down from every commanding corner. There was one on the house-front immediately opposite. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU, the caption said, while the dark eyes looked deep into Winston's own. Down at street level another poster, torn at one corner, flapped fitfully in the wind, alternately covering and uncovering the single word INGSOC. In the far distance a helicopter skimmed down between the roofs, hovered for an instant like a bluebottle, and darted away again with a curving flight. It was the police patrol, snooping into people's windows. The patrols did not matter, however. Only the Thought Police mattered.
外面， 即使通过关上的玻璃窗， 看上去也是寒冷的。 在下面街心里， 阵阵的小卷风把尘土和碎纸吹卷起来， 虽然阳光灿烂， 天空蔚蓝， 可是除了 到处贴着的招贴画以外，似乎什么东西都没有颜色。那张留着黑胡子的脸从 每一个关键地方向下凝视。在对面那所房子的正面就有一幅， 文字说朋是： 老大哥在看着你。 那双黑色的眼睛目不转睛地看着温斯顿的眼睛。 在下面街上有另外一张招贴画， 一角给撕破了， 在风中不时地吹拍着， 一会儿盖上， 一会儿又露出唯一的一个词儿“英社”。在远处， 一架直升飞 机在屋预上面掠过， 象一只蓝色的瓶子似的徘徊了一会， 又绕个弯儿飞走。 这是警察巡逻队， 在伺察人们的窗户。不过巡逻队并不可怕， 只有思想警察 才可怕。
Behind Winston's back the voice from the telescreen was still babbling away about pig-iron and the overfulfilment of the Ninth Three-Year Plan. The telescreen received and transmitted simultaneously. Any sound that Winston made, above the level of a very low whisper, would be picked up by it, moreover, so long as he remained within the field of vision which the metal plaque commanded, he could be seen as well as heard. There was of course no way of knowing whether you were being watched at any given moment. How often, or on what system, the Thought Police plugged in on any individual wire was guesswork. It was even conceivable that they watched everybody all the time. But at any rate they could plug in your wire whenever they wanted to. You had to live—did live, from habit that became instinct—in the assumption that every sound you made was overheard, and, except in darkness, every movement scrutinized.
在温斯顿的身后， 电幕上的声音仍在喋喋不休地报告生铁产量和第九 个三年计划的超额完成情况。 电幕能够同时接收和放送。温斯顿发出的任何 声音， 只要比极低声的细语大一点， 它就可以接收到； 此外， 只要他留在那 块金属板的视野之内， 除了能听到他的声音之外，也能看到他的行动。 当然， 没有办法知道， 在某一特定的时间里，你的一言一行是否都有人在监视着。 思想警察究竟多么经常， 或者根据什么安排在接收某个人的线路，那你就只 能猜测了。 甚至可以想象， 他们对每个人都是从头到尾一直在监视着的。反 正不论什么时候， 只要他们高兴， 他们都可以接上你的线路。你只能在这样 的假定下生活——从已经成为本能的习惯出发，你早已这样生活了：你发出 的每一个声音， 都是有人听到的， 你作的每一个动作， 除非在黑暗中，都是有人仔细观察的。
Winston kept his back turned to the telescreen. It was safer, though, as he well knew, even a back can be revealing. A kilometre away the Ministry of Truth, his place of work, towered vast and white above the grimy landscape. This, he thought with a sort of vague distaste—this was London, chief city of Airstrip One, itself the third most populous of the provinces of Oceania. He tried to squeeze out some childhood memory that should tell him whether London had always been quite like this. Were there always these vistas of rotting nineteenth-century houses, their sides shored up with baulks of timber, their windows patched with cardboard and their roofs with corrugated iron, their crazy garden walls sagging in all directions? And the bombed sites where the plaster dust swirled in the air and the willow-herb straggled over the heaps of rubble; and the places where the bombs had cleared a larger patch and there had sprung up sordid colonies of wooden dwellings like chicken-houses? But it was no use, he could not remember: nothing remained of his childhood except a series of brightlit tableaux occurring against no background and mostly unintelligible.
温斯顿继续背对着电幕。这样比较安全些；不过他也很明白，甚至背 部有时也能暴露问题的。一公里以外，他工作的单位真理部高耸在阴沉的市 景之上，建筑高大，一片白色。 这，他带着有些模糊的厌恶情绪想——这就是伦敦，一号空降场的主 要城市，一号空降场是大洋国人口位居第三的省份。他竭力想挤出一些童年 时代的记忆来，能够告诉他伦敦是不是一直都是这样的。是不是一直有这些 景象：破败的十九世纪房子，墙头用木材撑着，窗户钉上了硬纸板，屋顶上 盖着波纹铁皮，倒塌的花园围墙东倒西歪；还有那尘土飞扬、破砖残瓦上野 草丛生的空袭地点；还有那*弹炸**清出了一大块空地，上面忽然出现了许多象 鸡笼似的肮脏木房子的地方。可是没有用，他记不起来了；除了一系列没有 背景、模糊难辨的、灯光灿烂的画面以外，他的童年已不留下什么记忆了。
The Ministry of Truth—Minitrue, in Newspeak [Newspeak was the official language of Oceania. For an account of its structure and etymology see Appendix.]—was startlingly different from any other object in sight. It was an enormous pyramidal structure of glittering white concrete, soaring up, terrace after terrace, 300 metres into the air. From where Winston stood it was just possible to read, picked out on its white face in elegant lettering, the three slogans of the Party:
真理部——用新话来说叫真部——同视野里的任何其他东西都有令人 吃惊的不同。这是一个庞大的金字塔式的建筑，白色的水泥晶晶发亮，一层 接着一层上升，一直升到高空三百米。从温斯顿站着的地方，正好可以看到 *党**的三句口号，这是用很漂亮的字体写在白色的墙面上的：
WAR IS PEACE
FREEDOM IS SLAVERY
IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH
战争即和平
自由即奴役
无知即力量。
The Ministry of Truth contained, it was said, three thousand rooms above ground level, and corresponding ramifications below. Scattered about London there were just three other buildings of similar appearance and size. So completely did they dwarf the surrounding architecture that from the roof of Victory Mansions you could see all four of them simultaneously. They were the homes of the four Ministries between which the entire apparatus of government was divided. The Ministry of Truth, which concerned itself with news, entertainment, education, and the fine arts. The Ministry of Peace, which concerned itself with war. The Ministry of Love, which maintained law and order. And the Ministry of Plenty, which was responsible for economic affairs. Their names, in Newspeak: Minitrue, Minipax, Miniluv, and Miniplenty.
据说，真理部在地面上有三千间屋子，和地面下的结构相等。在伦敦 别的地方，还有三所其他的建筑，外表和大小与此相同。它们使周围的建筑 仿佛小巫见了大巫，因此你从胜利大厦的屋顶上可以同时看到这四所建筑。 它们是整个政府机构四部的所在地：真理部负责新闻、娱乐、教育、艺术； 和平部负责战争；友爱部维持法律和秩序；富裕部负责经济事务。 用新话来说，它们分别称为真部、和部、爱部、富部。
The Ministry of Love was the really frightening one. There were no windows in it at all. Winston had never been inside the Ministry of Love, nor within half a kilometre of it. It was a place impossible to enter except on official business, and then only by penetrating through a maze of barbedwire entanglements, steel doors, and hidden machine-gun nests. Even the streets leading up to its outer barriers were roamed by gorilla-faced guards in black uniforms, armed with jointed truncheons.
真正教人害怕的部是友爱部．它连一扇窗户也没有。温斯顿从来没有 到友爱部去过，也从来没有走近距它半公里之内的地带．这个地方，除非因 公，是无法进入的，而且进去也要通过重重铁丝网、铁门、隐蔽的机枪阵地．甚 至在环绕它的屏障之外的大街上，也有穿着黑色制服、携带连枷棍的凶神恶 煞般的警卫在巡逻。
Winston turned round abruptly. He had set his features into the expression of quiet optimism which it was advisable to wear when facing the telescreen. He crossed the room into the tiny kitchen. By leaving the Ministry at this time of day he had sacrificed his lunch in the canteen, and he was aware that there was no food in the kitchen except a hunk of dark-coloured bread which had got to be saved for tomorrow's breakfast. He took down from the shelf a bottle of colourless liquid with a plain white label marked VICTORY GIN. It gave off a sickly, oily smell, as of Chinese rice-spirit. Winston poured out nearly a teacupful, nerved himself for a shock, and gulped it down like a dose of medicine.
温斯顿突然转过身来．这时他已经使自已的脸部现出一种安详乐观的 表情，在面对电幕的时候，最好是用这种表情。他走过房间，到了小厨房里。 在一天的这个时间里离开真理部，他牺牲了在食堂的中饭，他知道厨房里没 有别的吃的，只有一块深色的面包，那是得省下来当明天的早饭的。 他从架子上拿下一瓶无色的液体，上面贴着一张简单白色的标签：胜 利杜松子酒。它有一种令人难受的油味儿，象中国的黄酒一样。温斯顿倒了 快一茶匙，硬着头皮，象吃药似的咕噜一口喝了下去。
Instantly his face turned scarlet and the water ran out of his eyes. The stuff was like nitric acid, and moreover, in swallowing it one had the sensation of being hit on the back of the head with a rubber club. The next moment, however, the burning in his belly died down and the world began to look more cheerful. He took a cigarette from a crumpled packet marked VICTORY CIGARETTES and incautiously held it upright, whereupon the tobacco fell out on to the floor. With the next he was more successful. He went back to the living-room and sat down at a small table that stood to the left of the telescreen. From the table drawer he took out a penholder, a bottle of ink, and a thick, quarto-sized blank book with a red back and a marbled cover.
他的脸马上绯红起来，眼角里流出了泪水。这玩艺儿象硝酸，而且， 喝下去的时候，你有一种感觉，好象后脑勺上挨了一下橡皮棍似的。不过接 着他肚子里火烧的感觉减退了，世界看起来开始比较轻松愉快了。他从一匣 挤瘪了的胜利牌香烟盒中拿出一支烟来，不小心地竖举着，烟丝马上掉到了 地上。他拿出了第二支，这次比较成功。他回到了起居室，坐在电幕左边的 一张小桌子前。他从桌子抽屉里拿出一支笔杆、一瓶墨水、一本厚厚的四开 本空白簿子，红色的书脊，大理石花纹的封面。
For some reason the telescreen in the living-room was in an unusual position. Instead of being placed, as was normal, in the end wall, where it could command the whole room, it was in the longer wall, opposite the window. To one side of it there was a shallow alcove in which Winston was now sitting, and which, when the flats were built, had probably been intended to hold bookshelves. By sitting in the alcove, and keeping well back, Winston was able to remain outside the range of the telescreen, so far as sight went. He could be heard, of course, but so long as he stayed in his present position he could not be seen. It was partly the unusual geography of the room that had suggested to him the thing that he was now about to do.
不知什么缘故，起居室里的电幕安的位置与众不同。按正常的办法， 它应该安在端墙上，可以看到整个房间，可是如今却安在侧墙上，正对着窗 户。在电幕的一边，有一个浅浅的壁龛，温斯顿现在就坐在这里，在修建这 所房子的时候，这个壁龛大概是打算放书架的。 温斯顿坐在壁龛里，尽量躲得远远的，可以处在电幕的控制范围之外， 不过这仅仅就视野而言。当然，他的声音还是可以听到的，但只要他留在目 前的地位中，电幕就看不到他。一半是由于这间屋子的与众不同的布局，使他想到要做他目前要做的事。
But it had also been suggested by the book that he had just taken out of the drawer. It was a peculiarly beautiful book. Its smooth creamy paper, a little yellowed by age, was of a kind that had not been manufactured for at least forty years past. He could guess, however, that the book was much older than that. He had seen it lying in the window of a frowsy little junk-shop in a slummy quarter of the town(just what quarter he did not now remember) and had been stricken immediately by an overwhelming desire to possess it. Party members were supposed not to go into ordinary shops (' dealing on the free market', it was called), but the rule was not strictly kept, because there were various things, such as shoelaces and razor blades, which it was impossible to get hold of in any other way. He had given a quick glance up and down the street and then had slipped inside and bought the book for two dollars fifty. At the time he was not conscious of wanting it for any particular purpose. He had carried it guiltily home in his briefcase. Even with nothing written in it, it was a compromising possession.
但这件事也是他刚刚从抽屉中拿出来的那个本子使他想到要做的。这是一本特别精美的本子。光滑洁白的纸张因年代久远而有些发黄，这种纸张至少过去四十年来已久未生产了。 不过他可以猜想，这部本子的年代还要久远得多。他是在本市里一个 破破烂烂的居民区的一家发霉的小旧货铺中看到它躺在橱窗中的，到底是哪 个区，他已经记不得了。他当时一眼就看中，一心要想得到它。照理*党**员是不许到普通店铺里去的(去了就是“在自由市场上做买卖”)，不过这条规矩 并不严格执行，因为有许多东西，例如鞋带、刀片，用任何别的办法是无法弄到的，他回头很快地看了一眼街道两头，就溜进了小铺子，花二元五角钱 把本子买了下来。当时他并没有想到买来干什么用。他把它放在皮包里，不安地回了家。即使里面没有写什么东西，有这样一个本子也是容易引起怀疑的。
The thing that he was about to do was to open a diary. This was not illegal (nothing was illegal, since there were no longer any laws), but if detected it was reasonably certain that it would be punished by death, or at least by twentyfive years in a forced-labour camp. Winston fitted a nib into the penholder and sucked it to get the grease off. The pen was an archaic instrument, seldom used even for signatures, and he had procured one, furtively and with some difficulty, simply because of a feeling that the beautiful creamy paper deserved to be written on with a real nib instead of being scratched with an ink-pencil. Actually he was not used to writing by hand. Apart from very short notes, it was usual to dictate everything into the speak-write which was of course impossible for his present purpose. He dipped the pen into the ink and then faltered for just a second. A tremor had gone through his bowels. To mark the paper was the decisive act. In small clumsy letters he wrote:
他要做的事情是开始写日记。写日记并不是不合法的(没有什么事情是不合法的，因为早已不再有什么法律了)，但是如被发现，可以相当有把握地肯定，会受到死刑的惩处，或者至少在强迫劳动营里干苦役二十五年。温斯顿把笔尖愿在笔杆上，用嘴舔了一下，把上面的油去掉。这种沾水笔已成了老古董，甚至签名时也不用了，他偷偷地花了不少力气才买到一支，只是因为他觉得这个精美乳白的本子只配用真正的笔尖书写，不能用墨水铅笔涂划。实际上他已不习惯手书了。除了极简短的字条以外，一般都用听写器口授一切，他目前要做的事，当然是不能用听写器的。他把笔尖沾了墨水，又停了一下，不过只有一刹那。他的肠子里感到一阵战颤。在纸上写标题是个决定性的行动。他用纤小笨拙的字体写道：
April 4th, 1984.
1984 年 4 月 4 日
He sat back. A sense of complete helplessness had descended upon him. To begin with, he did not know with any certainty that this was 1984. It must be round about that date, since he was fairly sure that his age was thirty-nine, and he believed that he had been born in 1944 or 1945; but it was never possible nowadays to pin down any date within a year or two.
他身子往后一靠。一阵束手无策的感觉袭击了他。首先是，他一点也没有把握，今年是不是 1984 年。大致是这个日期，因为他相当有把握地知道，自已的年龄是三十九岁，而且他相信他是在 1944 年或 1945 年生的。但是，要把任何日期确定下来，误差不出一两年，在当今的时世里，是永远办不到的。
For whom, it suddenly occurred to him to wonder, was he writing this diary? For the future, for the unborn. His mind hovered for a moment round the doubtful date on the page, and then fetched up with a bump against the Newspeak word DOUBLETHINK. For the first time the magnitude of what he had undertaken came home to him. How could you communicate with the future? It was of its nature impossible. Either the future would resemble the present, in which case it would not listen to him: or it would be different from it, and his predicament would be meaningless.
他突然想到，他是在为谁写日记呀？为将来，为后代。他的思想在本子上的那个可疑日期上犹豫了一会儿，突然想起了新话中的一个词儿“双重思想”。他头一次领梧到了他要做的事情的艰巨性。你怎么能够同未来联系呢？从其性质来说，这样做就是不可能的。只有两种情况，要是未来同现在一样，在这样的情况下未来就不会听他的，要是未来同现在不一样，他的处境也就没有任何意义了。
For some time he sat gazing stupidly at the paper. The telescreen had changed over to strident military music. It was curious that he seemed not merely to have lost the power of expressing himself, but even to have forgotten what it was that he had originally intended to say. For weeks past he had been making ready for this moment, and it had never crossed his mind that anything would be needed except courage. The actual writing would be easy. All he had to do was to transfer to paper the interminable restless monologue that had been running inside his head, literally for years. At this moment, however, even the monologue had dried up. Moreover his varicose ulcer had begun itching unbearably. He dared not scratch it, because if he did so it always became inflamed. The seconds were ticking by. He was conscious of nothing except the blankness of the page in front of him, the itching of the skin above his ankle, the blaring of the music, and a slight booziness caused by the gin.
他呆呆地坐在那里，看着本子。电幕上现在*放播**刺耳的军乐了。奇怪的是，他似乎不仅丧失了表达自己的能力，而且甚至忘掉了他原来要想说什么话了。过去几个星期以来，他一直在准备应付这一时刻，他从来没有想到过，除了勇气以外还需要什么。实际写作会是很容易的。他要做的只是把多年来头脑里一直在想的、无休止的、无穷尽的独白付诸笔墨就行了。但是在目前，甚至独白也枯竭了。此外，他的静脉曲张也开始痒了起来，使人难熬。他不敢抓它，因为一抓就要发炎。时间滴嗒地过去。他只感到面前一页空白的纸张，脚脖子上的皮肤发痒，音乐的聒噪，杜松子酒引起的一阵醉意。
Suddenly he began writing in sheer panic, only imperfectly aware of what he was setting down. His small but childish handwriting straggled up and down the page, shedding first its capital letters and finally even its full stops:
突然他开始慌里慌张地写了起来，只是模模糊糊地意识到他写的是些 什么。他的纤小而有些孩子气的笔迹在本子上弯弯曲曲地描划着，写着写着， 先是省略了大写字母，最后连句号也省略了：
April 4th, 1984. Last night to the flicks. All war films. One very good one of a ship full of refugees being bombed somewhere in the Mediterranean. Audience much amused by shots of a great huge fat man trying to swim away with a helicopter after him, first you saw him wallowing along in the water like a porpoise, then you saw him through the helicopters gunsights, then he was full of holes and the sea round him turned pink and he sank as suddenly as though the holes had let in the water, audience shouting with laughter when he sank. then you saw a lifeboat full of children with a helicopter hovering over it. there was a middle-aged woman might have been a jewess sitting up in the bow with a little boy about three years old in her arms. little boy screaming with fright and hiding his head between her breasts as if he was trying to burrow right into her and the woman putting her arms round him and comforting him although she was blue with fright herself, all the time covering him up as much as possible as if she thought her arms could keep the bullets off him. then the helicopter planted a 20 kilo bomb in among them terrific flash and the boat went all to matchwood. then there was a wonderful shot of a child's arm going up up up right up into the air a helicopter with a camera in its nose must have followed it up and there was a lot of applause from the party seats but a woman down in the prole part of the house suddenly started kicking up a fuss and shouting they didnt oughter of showed it not in front of kids they didnt it aint right not in front of kids it aint until the police turned her turned her out i dont suppose anything happened to her nobody cares what the proles say typical prole reaction they never——
1984 年 4 月 4 日。昨晚去看电影。全是战争片。一部很好，是关于一艘装满难民的船，在地中海某处遭到空袭。观众看到一个大胖子要想游开去逃脱追他的直升飞机的镜头感到很好玩。你起初看到他象一头海豚一样在水里浮沉，后来通过直升飞机的瞄准器看到他，最后他全身是枪眼，四周的海水都染红了，他突然下沉，好象枪眼里吸进了海水一样。下沉的时候观众笑着叫好。接着你看到一艘装满儿童的救生艇，上空有一架直升飞机在盘旋。有个中年妇女坐在船首，大概是个犹太女人，怀中抱着一个大约三岁的小男孩。小男孩吓得哇哇大哭，把脑袋躲在她的怀里，好象要钻进她的胸口中去似的，那个妇女用胳膊搂着他，安慰着他，尽管她自己的脸色也吓得发青。她一度用自己的胳膊尽可能地掩护着他，仿佛她以为自己的胳膊能够抵御*弹子**不伤他的身体似的。接着直升飞机在他们中间投了一颗二十公斤的*弹炸**，引起可怕的爆炸，救生艇四分五裂，成为碎片。接着出现一个很精采的镜头一个孩子的胳膊举了起来越举越高越举越高一直到了天空中一定有架机头装着摄影机的直升飞机跟着他的胳膊，在*党**员座中间发出了很多的掌声但是在无产座部分有个妇女突然吵了起来大声说他们不应该在孩子们面前放映这部电影他们在孩子们面前放映这部电影是不对的最后警察把她赶了出去我想她不致于会遇到什么不愉快的结果无产者说些什么没有人会放在心上典型的无产者反应他们决不会——
Winston stopped writing, partly because he was suffering from cramp. He did not know what had made him pour out this stream of rubbish. But the curious thing was that while he was doing so a totally different memory had clarified itself in his mind, to the point where he almost felt equal to writing it down. It was, he now realized, because of this other incident that he had suddenly decided to come home and begin the diary today.
温斯顿停下了笔，一半是因为他感到手指痉挛。他也不知道是什么东西使他一泻千里地写出这些胡说八道的话来。但奇怪的事情是，他在写的时候，有一种完全不同的记忆在他的思想中明确起来，使他觉得自已有能力把它写下来。他现在认识到，这是因为有另一件事情才使他突然决定今天要回家开始写日记。