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Part 1, Chapter 5 5 In the low-ceilinged canteen, deep underground, the lunch queue jerked slowly forward. The room was already very full and deafeningly noisy. From the grille at the counter the steam of stew came pouring forth, with a sour metallic smell which did not quite overcome the fumes of Victory Gin.
On the far side of the room there was a small bar, a mere hole in the wall, where gin could be bought at ten cents the large nip. It was his friend Syme, who worked in the Research Department.
Perhaps 'friend' was not exactly the right word. You did not have friends nowadays, you had comrades: Syme was a philologist, a specialist in Newspeak. Indeed, he was one of the enormous team of experts now engaged in compiling the Eleventh Edition of the Newspeak Dictionary.
He was a tiny creature, smaller than Winston, with dark hair and large, protuberant eyes, at once mournful and derisive, which seemed to search your face closely while he was speaking to you.
They don't exist any longer.
Actually he had two unused ones which he was hoarding up. There had been a famine of them for months past. At any given moment there was some necessary article which the Party shops were unable to supply. Sometimes it was buttons, sometimes it was darning wool, sometimes it was shoelaces; at present it was razor blades.
You could only get hold of them, if at all, by scrounging more or less furtively on the 'free' market. The queue gave another jerk forward. As they halted he turned and faced Syme again.
Each of them took a greasy metal tray from a pile at the end of the counter. His mocking eyes roved over Winston's face. I know very well why you didn't go to see those prisoners hanged. He would talk with a disagreeable gloating satisfaction of helicopter raids on enemy villages, and trials and confessions of thought-criminals, the executions in the cellars of the Ministry of Love.
Talking to him was largely a matter of getting him away from such subjects and entangling him, if possible, in the technicalities of Newspeak, on which he was authoritative and interesting.
Winston turned his head a little aside to avoid the scrutiny of the large dark eyes. I like to see them kicking. And above all, at the end, the tongue sticking right out, and blue a quite bright blue.
That's the detail that appeals to me. Winston and Syme pushed their trays beneath the grille. On to each was dumped swiftly the regulation lunch -- a metal pannikin of pinkish-grey stew, a hunk of bread, a cube of cheese, a mug of milkless Victory Coffee, and one saccharine tablet.
They threaded their way across the crowded room and unpacked their trays on to the metal-topped table, on one corner of which someone had left a pool of stew, a filthy liquid mess that had the appearance of vomit. Winston took up his mug of gin, paused for an instant to collect his nerve, and gulped the oily-tasting stuff down.
When he had winked the tears out of his eyes he suddenly discovered that he was hungry. He began swallowing spoonfuls of the stew, which, in among its general sloppiness, had cubes of spongy pinkish stuff which was probably a preparation of meat.
Neither of them spoke again till they had emptied their pannikins. From the table at Winston's left, a little behind his back, someone was talking rapidly and continuously, a harsh gabble almost like the quacking of a duck, which pierced the general uproar of the room.Quick Answer.
Room always contains a person's greatest fear, the one thing that is absolutely unbearable for them to endure. As O'Brien says, the specifics of this fear vary from person to person. In this lesson, we'll analyze Winston Smith, the main character in George Orwell's political novel, ''.
We'll explore the traits that make Winston Smith a definitive everyman character. Nineteen Eighty-Four, often published as , is a dystopian novel published in by English author George Orwell.   The novel is set in the year when most of the world population have become victims of perpetual war, omnipresent government surveillance and propaganda.
Winston Smith: [reads from Goldstein's book] "In accordance to the principles of Doublethink, it does not matter if the war is not real, or when it is, that victory is not benjaminpohle.com war is not meant to be won.
It is meant to be continuous. The essential act of modern warfare .
Winston Smith. Orwell’s primary goal in is to demonstrate the terrifying possibilities of totalitarianism. The reader experiences the nightmarish world that Orwell envisions through the eyes of the protagonist, Winston. Winston Smith. The novel's protagonist. Winston is a quiet year-old man living in Oceania in the year A Party member, Winston works at the Ministry of Truth correcting "errors" in past publications.