three minutes. The next moment he was doubled up by a violent
coughing fit which nearly always attacked him soon after waking up. It
emptied his lungs so completely that he could only begin breathing again by
lying on his back and taking a series of deep gasps. His veins had swelled
with the effort of the cough, and the varicose ulcer had started itching.
'Thirty to forty group!' yapped a piercing female voice. 'Thirty to
forty group! Take your places, please. Thirties to forties!'
Winston sprang to attention in front of the telescreen, upon which the
image of a youngish woman, scrawny but muscular, dressed in tunic and gym-
shoes, had already appeared.
'Arms bending and stretching!' she rapped out. 'Take your time by me.
One, two, three, four! One, two, three, four! Come on, comrades, put a bit
of life into it! One, two, three four! One two, three, four!...'
The pain of the coughing fit had not quite driven out of Winston's
mind the impression made by his dream, and the rhythmic movements of the
exercise restored it somewhat. As he mechanically shot his arms back and
forth, wearing on his face the look of grim enjoyment which was considered
proper during the Physical Jerks, he was struggling to think his way
backward into the dim period of his early childhood. It was extraordinarily
difficult. Beyond the late fifties everything faded. When there were no
external records that you could refer to, even the outline of your own life
lost its sharpness. You remembered huge events which had quite pr