had
risen to her knees. Her face had turned a milky yellow colour against which
her mouth stood out redder than ever. Her eyes were fixed on his, with an
appealing expression that looked more like fear than pain.
A curious emotion stirred in Winston's heart. In front of him was an
enemy who was trying to kill him: in front of him, also, was a human
creature, in pain and perhaps with a broken bone. Already he had
instinctively started forward to help her. In the moment when he had seen
her fall on the bandaged arm, it had been as though he felt the pain in his
own body.
'You're hurt?' he said.
'It's nothing. My arm. It'll be all right in a second.'
She spoke as though her heart were fluttering. She had certainly
turned very pale.
'You haven't broken anything?'
'No, I'm all right. It hurt for a moment, that's all.'
She held out her free hand to him, and he helped her up. She had
regained some of her colour, and appeared very much better.
'It's nothing,' she repeated shortly. 'I only gave my wrist a bit of a
bang. Thanks, comrade!'
And with that she walked on in the direction in which she had been
going, as briskly as though it had really been nothing. The whole incident
could not have taken as much as half a minute. Not to let one's feelings
appear in one's face was a habit that had acquired the status of an
instinct, and in any case they had been standing straight in front of a
telescreen when the thing happened. Nevertheless it had been very difficult
not to betray a momentary surprise, for in the two or three seconds while
he was helping her up the girl had slipped something into his hand. The