was a man of about thirty, with a muscular
throat and a large, mobile mouth. His head was thrown back a little, and
because of the angle at which he was sitting, his spectacles caught the
light and presented to Winston two blank discs instead of eyes. What was
slightly horrible, was that from the stream of sound that poured out of his
mouth it was almost impossible to distinguish a single word. Just once
Winston caught a phrase -- 'complete and final elimination of Goldsteinism'
-- jerked out very rapidly and, as it seemed, all in one piece, like a line
of type cast solid. For the rest it was just a noise, a quack-quack-
quacking. And yet, though you could not actually hear what the man was
saying, you could not be in any doubt about its general nature. He might be
denouncing Goldstein and demanding sterner measures against thought-
criminals and saboteurs, he might be fulminating against the atrocities of
the Eurasian army, he might be praising Big Brother or the heroes on the
Malabar front -- it made no difference. Whatever it was, you could be
certain that every word of it was pure orthodoxy, pure Ingsoc. As he
watched the eyeless face with the jaw moving rapidly up and down, Winston
had a curious feeling that this was not a real human being but some kind of
dummy. It was not the man's brain that was speaking, it was his larynx. The
stuff that was coming out of him consisted of words, but it was not speech
in the true sense: it was a noise uttered in unconsciousness, like the
quacking of a duck.
Syme had fallen silent for a moment, and with the handle of his spoon
was tracing patterns in the puddle of stew. The voice from the other table
quacked rapidly on, easily audible in spite of the surrounding din.
'There is a word in Newspeak,' said Syme, 'I don't know whether you
know it: duckspeak, to quack like a duck. It is one of those interesting
words th

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