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We are the dead...
YOU ARE THE DEAD
It was behind the picture. Remain exactly where you are. Make no movements until you are ordered.
It was behind the picture...
The house is surrounded!
We might as well say good-by...
They could do nothing except stand gazing into one another's eyes. To run for life, to get out of the house before it was too late--no such thought occurred to him. There was a snap as though a catch had been turned back, and a crash of breaking glass.
Pick up those pieces.
There was a stampede of boots up the stairs. The room was full of of solid men in black uniforms, with iron-shod boots on their feet.
There was a gasp and a thump behind him, and he received a violent kick on the ankle. One of the men had smashed his fist into Julia's solar plexus, doubling her up like a pocket ruler. Then two of the men hoisted her up by the knees and shoulders and carried her out of the room.
A man stood to obey. The cockney accent had disappeared; Winston suddenly realized whose voice it was that he had heard a few moments ago on the telescreen. It occurred to Winston that for the first time in his life he was looking at a member of the Thought Police.
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