1 He stopped thinking and merely felt.
2 All he felt was incredulity and pride.
3 He felt as though a fire were burning in his belly.
4 She stood looking at him for an instant, then felt at the zipper of her overalls.
5 As he passed through the lavatory door he transferred it to his pocket and felt it with the tips of his fingers.
6 But at the last moment, while the crowd still hemmed them in, her hand felt for his and gave it a fleeting squeeze.
7 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.
8 There was no way of knowing whose job would finally be adopted, but he felt a profound conviction that it would be his own.
9 He felt as though he were wandering in the forests of the sea bottom, lost in a monstrous world where he himself was the monster.
10 Then, as though touching her waist had reminded her of something, she felt in the pocket of her overalls and produced a small slab of chocolate.
11 And yet the rage that one felt was an abstract, undirected emotion which could be switched from one object to another like the flame of a blowlamp.
12 For a moment it felt as though his entrails were being ground to pulp between the two muscular hips, then he had broken through, sweating a little.
13 He felt deeply drawn to him, and not solely because he was intrigued by the contrast between O'Brien's urbane manner and his prize-fighter's physique.
14 But the curious thing was that while he was doing so a totally different memory had clarified itself in his mind, to the point where he almost felt equal to writing it down.
15 Airstrip One, for instance, had not been so called in those days: it had been called England or Britain, though London, he felt fairly certain, had always been called London.
16 But there was still that memory moving round the edges of his consciousness, something strongly felt but not reducible to definite shape, like an object seen out of the corner of one's eye.
17 It seemed to him that he knew exactly what it felt like to sit in a room like this, in an arm-chair beside an open fire with your feet in the fender and a kettle on the hob; utterly alone, utterly secure, with nobody watching you, no voice pursuing you, no sound except the singing of the kettle and the friendly ticking of the clock.
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