A sense of complete helplessness had descended upon him.
He dipped the pen into the ink and then faltered for just a second. Apart from very short notes, it was usual to dictate everything into the speak-write which was of course impossible for his present purpose. Actually he was not used to writing by hand. The pen was an archaic instrument, seldom used even for signatures, and he had procured one, furtively and with some difficulty, simply because of a feeling that the beautiful creamy paper deserved to be written on with a real nib instead of being scratched with an ink-pencil. Winston fitted a nib into the penholder and sucked it to get the grease off. This was not illegal (nothing was illegal, since there were no longer any laws), but if detected it was reasonably certain that it would be punished by death, or at least by twenty-five years in a forced-labour camp. The thing that he was about to do was to open a diary.
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