Today while Julia and I were in our new private world that is Mr. Charrington’s attic, she put on some paint like that of the nasty prostitute proletarian that I went to almost two years ago. Makeup I think it used to be called. The difference between Julia and the old prostitute is that Julia looked way more beautiful than I expected. She went on to say how she planned on finding some high heels and a woman’s frock coat. She said, “I’m going to be a woman, not a party comrade!” I overlooked the fact that the Party had dewomanized the women among our ranks. Seeing Julia as happy as she was, I’ve come to appreciate this newfound freedom we have in our room. It’s been fun O’Brien.
Winston Smith
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