Carla SNUK
older than himself, relics of the ancient world, almost
the last great figures left over from the heroic days of the Party. The
glamour of the underground struggle and the civil war still faintly clung
to them. He had the feeling, though already at that time facts and dates
were growing blurry, that he had known their names years earlier than he
had known that of Big Brother. But also they were outlaws, enemies,
untouchables, doomed with absolute certainty to extinction within a year or
two. No one who had once fallen into the hands of the Thought Police ever
escaped in the end. They were corpses waiting to be sent back to the grave.
There was no one at any of the tables nearest to them. It was not wise
even to be seen in the neighbourhood of such people. They were sitting in
silence before glasses of the gin flavoured with cloves which was the
speciality of the cafe. Of the three, it was Rutherford whose appearance
had most impressed Winston. Rutherford had once been a famous caricaturist,
whose brutal cartoons had helped to inflame popular opinion before and
during the Revolution. Even now, at long intervals, his cart
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