Page 177 - Animal Farm and 1984

this a splendid hide-out? I found it when I got lost once on a community hike. If anyone was coming you could hear them a hundred meters away.”
“What is your name?” said Winston.
“Julia. I know yours. It’s Winston—Winston Smith.”
“How did you find that out?”
“I expect I’m better at finding things out than you are, dear. Tell me, what
did you think of me before that day I gave you the note?”
He did not feel any temptation to tell lies to her. It was even a sort of love
offering to start off by telling the worst.
“I hated the sight of you,” he said. “I wanted to rape you and then murder
you afterwards. Two weeks ago I thought seriously of smashing your head in with a cobblestone. If you really want to know, I imagined that you had something to do with the Thought Police.”
The girl laughed delightedly, evidently taking this as a tribute to the excellence of her disguise.
“Not the Thought Police! You didn’t honestly think that?”
“Well, perhaps not exactly that. But from your general appearance— merely because you’re young and fresh and healthy, you understand—I thought that probably—”
“You thought I was a good Party member. Pure in word and deed. Banners, processions, slogans, games, community hikes—all that stuff. And you thought that if I had a quarter of a chance I’d denounce you as a thought- criminal and get you killed off?”
“Yes, something of that kind. A great many young girls are like that, you know.”
“It’s this bloody thing that does it,” she said, ripping off the scarlet sash of the Junior Anti-Sex League and flinging it onto a bough. Then, as though touching her waist had reminded her of something, she felt in the pocket of her overalls and produced a small slab of chocolate. She broke it in half and gave one of the pieces to Winston. Even before he had taken it he knew by the smell that it was very unusual chocolate. It was dark and shiny, and was wrapped in silver paper. Chocolate normally was dull-brown crumbly stuff that tasted, as nearly as one could describe it, like the smoke of a rubbish fire. But at some time or another he had tasted chocolate like the piece she had given him. The first whiff of its scent had stirred up some memory which he could not pin down, but which was powerful and troubling.
“Where did you get this stuff?” he said.