It was only on very rare occasions that one saw inside the dwelling-places of the Inner Party, or even penetrated into the quarter of the town where they lived.The whole atmosphere of the huge block of flats, the richness and spaciousness of everything, the unfamiliar smells of good food and good tobacco, the silent and incredibly rapid lifts sliding up and down, the white-jacketed servants hurrying to and fro -- everything was intimidating.' 'Yes.' 'You are prepared, the two of you, to separate and never see one another again? For a moment he seemed even to have been deprived of the power of speech. Then that is settled.' There was a silver box of cigarettes on the table.His tongue worked soundlessly, forming the opening syllables first of one word, then of the other, over and over again. 'It is necessary for us to know everything.' He turned himself toward Julia and added in a voice with somewhat more expression in it: 'Do you understand that even if he survives, it may be as a different person? His face, his movements, the shape of his hands, the colour of his hair -- even his voice would be different. Sometimes we even amputate a limb.' Winston could not help snatching another sidelong glance at Martin's Mongolian face. Julia had turned a shade paler, so that her freckles were showing, but she faced O'Brien boldly. With a rather absent-minded air O'Brien pushed them towards the others, took one himself, then stood up and began to pace slowly to and fro, as though he could think better standing.O'Brien had a slip of paper between his fingers and seemed to be studying it intently.His heavy face, bent down so that one could see the line of the nose, looked both formidable and intelligent.Winston's heart was thumping so hard that he doubted whether he would be able to speak.They had done it, they had done it at last, was all he could think.
He could not even fall back on the pretence that he had come to borrow the dictionary, because in that case Julia's presence was impossible to explain. He was waiting, somewhat sternly, for Winston to speak, but about what? Since he did not in fact know what kind of help he expected from O'Brien, it was not easy to say why he had come here. Winston saw that he was carrying a tray with a decanter and glasses. For some reason he had always thought of wine as having an intensely sweet taste, like that of blackberry jam and an immediate intoxicating effect. 'It is unwise even for members of the Inner Party to turn off the telescreen for more than half an hour.
Without speaking or giving any kind of salutation, Martin went out, closing the door silently behind him.
O'Brien was strolling up and down, one hand in the pocket of his black overalls, the other holding his cigarette.
It had been a rash act to come here at all, and sheer folly to arrive together; though it was true that they had come by different routes and only met on O'Brien's doorstep.
But merely to walk into such a place needed an effort of the nerve.