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Thought Crime, They Call It
It was no longer the same cramped, awkward handwriting as before. His pen had slid voluptuously over the smooth paper,. printing in large, neat capitals. Over and over again, filling half a page. Could not help feeling a twinge of panic. But he knew that it was useless. Whether he wrote down with big brother, or whether he refrained from writing it made no difference. The thought police would get him just the same.