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They talked as if talk were the real work of life, and the world’s problems would soon be resolved if it were only rightly done.
Why was she—why was Winston—why were so many people determined to put an end to themselves?
The dimmest schoolchild could have told you as much, though they might not have said it aloud. The futile tone of it wearied her more than anything. It tasted of the stale breath of men for whom opinions trumped life.
