Day 12

My heart, racing... conscious, gratuitous, suicidal folly. Privacy, oh what a valuable thing to cherish. The temptation of a hiding place, a place to meet her... the Desire. Was Julia cheating on me? Am I only saying that because she said she had to cancel our plans? Our hands... they met, her touch, her soft skin... I can't get her out of my head! Her beautiful touch, her kiss, all desired... all thought-crime. Her coffee... her real coffee. The real sugar, the white bread, the rare food only amongst the Party... Her face, the beautiful face... with make up. Nobody in the Party wore make up... nobody. Her plans to steal clothes... delicious. Our act, the act we committed, the political act, so illegal, but desirable. Rats, disgusting rats, the thought of rats, pure gore. The coral... what was it? What did it stand for? Our love? Our relationship?... Us? It was so old... "Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St. Clement's! You owe me three farthings, say the bells of St. Martin's. When will you pay me? say the bells of Old Bailey... Here comes a candle to light you to bed, here comes a chopper to chop off your head!" She did not even know what a lemon looked like.