out of your head.
Look here!'
He seized one of Winston's remaining front teeth between his powerful
thumb and forefinger. A twinge of pain shot through Winston's jaw. O'Brien
had wrenched the loose tooth out by the roots. He tossed it across the
cell.
'You are rotting away,' he said; 'you are falling to pieces. What are
you? A bag of filth. Now turn around and look into that mirror again. Do
you see that thing facing you? That is the last man. If you are human, that
is humanity. Now put your clothes on again.'
Winston began to dress himself with slow stiff movements. Until now he
had not seemed to notice how thin and weak he was. Only one thought stirred
in his mind: that he must have been in this place longer than he had
imagined. Then suddenly as he fixed the miserable rags round himself a
feeling of pity for his ruined body overcame him. Before he knew what he
was doing he had collapsed on to a small stool that stood beside the bed
and burst into tears. He was aware of his ugliness, his gracelessness, a
bundle of bones in filthy underclothes sitting weeping in the harsh white
light: but he could not stop himself. O'Brien laid a hand on his shoulder,
almost kindly.
'It will not last for ever,' he said. 'You can escape from it whenever
you choose. Everything depends on yourself.'
'You did it!' sobbed Winston. 'You reduced me to this state.'
'No, Winston, you reduced yourself to it. This is what you accepted
when you set yourself up against the Party. It was all