1 Winston caught him gently by the arm.
2 She must have fallen right on the injured arm.
3 She sat against him, putting her arm round his waist.
4 The girl's waist in the bend of his arm was soft and warm.
5 His mother drew her arm round the child and pressed its face against her breast.
6 He did not stir, because Julia was sleeping with her head in the crook of his arm.
7 The girl's shoulder, and her arm right down to the elbow, were pressed against his.
8 Her arm was out of the sling and she had a band of sticking-plaster round her wrist.
9 In the moment when he had seen her fall on the bandaged arm, it had been as though he felt the pain in his own body.
10 As she came nearer he saw that her right arm was in a sling, not noticeable at a distance because it was of the same colour as her overalls.
11 O'Brien, however, had continued forward in the same movement, laying a friendly hand for a moment on Winston's arm, so that the two of them were walking side by side.
12 Soon he was within arm's length of the girl, but the way was blocked by an enormous prole and an almost equally enormous woman, presumably his wife, who seemed to form an impenetrable wall of flesh.
13 To the right of the speakwrite, a small pneumatic tube for written messages, to the left, a larger one for newspapers; and in the side wall, within easy reach of Winston's arm, a large oblong slit protected by a wire grating.
14 With its grace and carelessness it seemed to annihilate a whole culture, a whole system of thought, as though Big Brother and the Party and the Thought Police could all be swept into nothingness by a single splendid movement of the arm.
15 She suddenly twisted herself over in the bed, seized a shoe from the floor, and sent it hurtling into the corner with a boyish jerk of her arm, exactly as he had seen her fling the dictionary at Goldstein, that morning during the Two Minutes Hate.
16 He hated her because she was young and pretty and sexless, because he wanted to go to bed with her and would never do so, because round her sweet supple waist, which seemed to ask you to encircle it with your arm, there was only the odious scarlet sash, aggressive symbol of chastity.
17 The dream had also been comprehended by--indeed, in some sense it had consisted in--a gesture of the arm made by his mother, and made again thirty years later by the Jewish woman he had seen on the news film, trying to shelter the small boy from the bullets, before the helicopter blew them both to pieces.
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