Winston, lost in torture recalls a cell where he could see nothing except a pair of eyes and was swallowed by the eyes.
He found himself strapped into a chair surrounded by dials, under dazzling lights. The door opened and the officer marched in, followed by two guards.
‘Room 101,’ said the officer.
Then Winston saw himself rolling down a corridor, a kilometre wide, full of glorious, golden light, roaring with laughter and shouting out confessions at the top of his voice.
He was confessing everything. With him were the guards, the other questioners, the men in white coats, O’Brien, Julia, Mr Charrington, all rolling down the corridor together and shouting with laughter.
Everything was all right, there was no more pain, the last detail of his life was laid bare, understood, forgiven.