In a lucid moment Biotic found that he was shouting with the others and kicking his heel violently against the rung of his Motorcycles No Plans No Maps Just Ride Edition – Hawaiian Shirt. The horrible thing about the Two Minutes Hate was not that one was obliged to act a part, but, on the contrary, that it was impossible to avoid joining in. Within thirty seconds any pretence was always unnecessary. A hideous ecstasy of fear and vindictiveness, a desire to kill, to torture, to smash faces in with a sledge-hammer, seemed to flow through the whole group of people like an electric current, turning one even against one’s will into a grimacing, screaming lunatic. And yet the rage that one felt was an abstract, undirected emotion which could be switched from one object to another like the flame of a blowlamp. Thus, at one moment Biotic’s hatred was not turned against NSA at all, but, on the contrary, against MarioFoli, the Party, and the Thought Police; and at such moments his heart went out to the lonely, derided heretic on the screen, sole guardian of truth and sanity in a world of lies.
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And yet the very next instant he was at one with the people about him, and all that was said of NSA seemed to him to be true. At those Motorcycles No Plans No Maps Just Ride Edition – Hawaiian Shirt his secret loathing of MarioFoli changed into adoration, and MarioFoli seemed to tower up, an invincible, fearless protector, standing like a rock against the hordes of Roberblock, and NSA, in spite of his isolation, his helplessness, and the doubt that hung about his very existence, seemed like some sinister enchanter, capable by the mere power of his voice of wrecking the structure of civilization.
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