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[Cwriter-fr] backup chalk


From: Malcolm Moss
Subject: [Cwriter-fr] backup chalk
Date: Thu, 14 Sep 2006 04:54:00 -0600

Hecould see the white all round the irises of Julias eyes.
Theguard was laughing at his contortions.
The confession was a formality,though the torture was real.
Do you remember, he said, the thrush that sang to us, that first day,at the edge of the wood?
With that first blow on the elbow the nightmare had started. She paused, pattedher breast, and belched.
But after reading it he knewbetter than before that he was not mad. He thought oftener of OBrien, with a flickeringhope.
One ofthe men had smashed his fist into Julias solar plexus, doubling her uplike a pocket ruler.
They stood out in his minddisconnectedly, like pictures with blackness all round them.
Theguard was laughing at his contortions.
He had still, he reflected, not learned the ultimate secret. His large pouchy cheeks were quiveringuncontrollably.
I tried to do my best for the Party, didnt I? This time Winston was startled into self-forgetfulness. Her breast roseand fell slowly and regularly. His eyes focused themselves slowly on Winston.
The picture had fallento the floor uncovering the telescreen behind it.
You were the dead, theirs was the future.
The drivelling song seemed to have kept its popularity. Nor, in thecircumstances, did it strike him as very important or interesting. She leant forward and vomited copiously on the floor.
Whenit grew worse he thought only of the pain itself, and of his desire forfood. Whenit grew worse he thought only of the pain itself, and of his desire forfood. He had slumped to his knees, almost paralysed, clasping thestricken elbow with his other hand.

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