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I Don't Care Down With Big Brother
There was a knocking at his door. He sat as still as a mouse in the futile hope that whoever it was might go away after a single attempt. The worst thing of all would be to delay. His heart was thumping like a drum, but his face from long habit was probably expressionless. As he put his hand to the doorknob, Winston saw that he had left the diary open on the table. It was an inconceivably stupid thing to have done. But he realized even in his panic he had not wanted to smudge the creamy paper by shutting the book while the ink was wet. A warm wave of relief flowed through him.