Winston felt a tightening in his diaphragm. It was impossible for him to look at Goldstein's face without being overwhelmed by a painful mixture of feelings. It was a lean face of Jewish appearance, with a huge bushy halo of white hair and a small goatee – a face that testified to intelligence, yet for some reason was naturally repulsive, with a touch of senile silliness in its long, thin nose, at the tip of which perched a pair of myopic glasses. It resembled a sheep's face, but his voice also had a bleating tone. Goldstein was engaged in his usual venomous attack against the Party's doctrines – an attack so excessive, so perverse, that even a small child would understand it was flawed, and yet it was just believable enough to overwhelm you with the anxious feeling that someone else, less sane than you, might fall victim to it. He cursed Big Brother, condemned the Party's dictatorship, demanded immediate peace with Eurasia, supported freedom of speech, freedom of the Press, freedom of assembly, freedom of thought, hysterically screamed that the revolution had been sold out – all with a frenzied and long-winded speech, which was a kind of parody of the typical rhetoric of the Party's orators and even contained Newspeak terms: in fact, it included far more Newspeak terms than any Party member would ever use in an ordinary speech.
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