The dapper freewheeling Propaganda Minister, conceptualizer and assiduous proselytizer of newspeak, slammed down the telephone and cursed his caller for craven last-ditchery in justifying the deletion of an exclamation mark on a poster, 500,000 of which had just arrived from the printer and every one of them sans his meticulously designed and carefully placed exclamation mark for which the Minister had been so orgulous: "gone, gone, gone, gone, gone!" he screamed, face contorted, fists clenched, spittle flying from he lips as he vented his fury "the Managing Editor, the Chief Editor, the Executive Editor, The Deputy Editor, the Assistant Editor, the whole fucking lot of them!" and his secretary said: "thank God Lansky spotted it then, sir," and he stared at her with cold eyes: "who spotted what, woman?" and she smiled, Meyer Lansky, the Copy Boy, sir," and his nostrils twitched: "what did he spot? spit it out," and she grinned, "he noticed that it looked like a question mark, sir, and he realised it had been a slip of the pen, sir, and none of the Editors had picked it up and it should have been a Full Stop, sir, and he just whited out the squiggle and there it was, just as you meant, sir," and he couldn't think what she was talking about: "what did I mean, you stupid girl?" she grinned: "well, sir, the last three words, sir, they needed a Full Stop, sir, it's the only way it made sense sir:
The Final Solution."