corruption always
filled him with a wild hope. Who knew, perhaps the Party was rotten
under
the surface, its cult of strenuousness and self-denial simply a
sham
concealing iniquity. If he could have infected the whole lot of them
with
leprosy or syphilis, how gladly he would have done so! Anything to rot,
to
weaken, to undermine! He pulled her down so that they were kneeling face
to
face.
'Listen. The more men you've had, the more I love you. Do
you
understand that?'
'Yes, perfectly.'
'I hate purity, I hate goodness! I don't want any virtue to
exist
anywhere. I want everyone to be corrupt to the bones.'
'Well then, I ought to suit you, dear. I'm corrupt to the bones.'
'You like doing this? I don't mean simply me: I mean the thing
in
itself?'
'I adore it.'
That was above all what he wanted to hear. Not merely the love of
one
person but the animal instinct, the simple undifferentiated desire:
that
was the force that would tear the Party to pieces. He pressed her down
upon
the grass, among the fallen bluebells. This time there was no
difficulty.
Presently the rising and falling of their breasts slowed to normal
speed,
and in a sort of pleasant helplessness they fell apart. The sun seemed
to
have grown hotter. They were both sleepy. He reached out for the
discarded
overalls and pulled them partly over her. Almost immediately they
fell
asleep and slept for about half an hour.
Winston woke first. He sat up and watched the freckled face,
still
peacefully asleep, pillowed on the palm of her hand. Except for her
mouth,
you could not
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