«A Clockwork Orange»

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We've come into
contact before, I'm sure we have." And he brooded, like frowning. I would
have to watch this, O my brothers. D. B. da Silva said:
"Public meetings, mainly. To exhibit you at public meetings will be a
tremendous help. And, of course, the newspaper angle is all tied up. A
ruined life is the approach. We must inflame all hearts." He showed his
thirty-odd zoobies, very white against his dark-coloured litso, he looking a
malenky bit like some foreigner. I said:
"Nobody will tell me what I get out of all this. Tortured in jail,
thrown out of my home by my own parents and their filthy overbearing lodger,
beaten by old men and near-killed by the millicents--what is to become of
me?" The Rubinstein veck came in with:
"You will see, boy, that the Party will not be ungrateful. Oh, no. At
the end of it all there will be some very acceptable little surprise for
you. Just you wait and see."
"There's only one veshch I require," I creeched out, "and that's to be
normal and healthy as I was in the starry days, having my malenky bit of fun
with real droogs and not those who just call themselves that and are really
more like traitors. Can you do that, eh? Can any veck restore me to what I
was? That's what I want and that's what I want to know."
Kashl kashl kashl, coughed this Z. Dolin. "A martyr to the cause of
Liberty." he said. "You have your part to play and don't forget it.
Meanwhile, we shall look after you." And he began to stroke my left rooker
as if I was like an idiot, grinning in a bezoomny way. I creeched:
"Stop treating me like a thing that's like got to be just used. I'm not
an idiot you can impose on, you stupid bratchnies. Ordinary prestoopnicks
are stupid, but I'm not ordinary and nor am I dim. Do you slooshy?"
"Dim," said F. Alexander, like musing. "Dim. That was a name somewhere.
Dim."
"Eh?" I said. "What's Dim got to do with it? What do you know about
Dim?" And then I said: "Oh, Bog help us." I didn't like the look in F.
Alexander's glazzies. I made for the door, wanting to go upstairs and get my
platties and then itty off.
"I could almost believe," said F. Alexander, showing his stained
zoobies, his glazzies mad. "But such things are impossible. For, by Christ,
if he were I'd tear him. I'd split him, by God, yes yes, so I would."
"There," said D. B. da Silva, stroking his chest like he was a doggie
to calm him down. "It's all in the past. It was other people altogether. We
must help this poor victim. That's what we must do now, remembering the
Future and our Cause."
"I'll just get my platties," I said, at the stair-foot, "that is to say
clothes, and then I'll be ittying off all on my oddy knocky. I mean, my
gratitude for all, but I have my own jeezny to live.