"Don't you move, young man!" There was a long moment of intense, strained silence, in which the five men could hear nothing but their own quick breathing.

Before Winston everything grew indistinct, unreal, the faces fronting him a phantasy of imagination.

He felt the fierce throb of his own pulses, a sudden dull pain shooting through his temples.

_Murder_! The terrible word struck like a blow, appearing to paralyze all his faculties.

In front of him, as if painted, he saw that fierce struggle in the dark, the limp figure lying huddled among the rocks.