As far as the subject of our analysis is considered, we have decided to discuss a dialogue from the novel A Clockwork Orange by English writer Anthony Burgess. The story is a bizarre and dystopian insight into the near- future town in Britain. The main protagonist, a 14-year-old young boy, Alex de Large, is a leader of a gang of adolescent thugs whose favorite hobby is all-night rides full of beatings and sexual violence. Soon enough, Alex is imprisoned after committing a murder and being in prison he is imposed to the so-called “Ludovico Treatment Therapy” which results in making him feel nauseous whenever he thinks of acting on sexual or violent urge. For our purposes we have chosen an introductory dialogue between Alex and his social worker, Mr. Deltoid, a day after the night when Alex and his friends had beaten up an old man and boys from the rival gang. As far as the setting is concerned, the conversation takes place at Alex’s parents’ place in a supposed-to-be near future:

I heard a goloss shouting through the door: “Come on then, get out of it, I know you are in bed.” I recognized the goloss right away. It was the goloss of P.R. Deltoid, what they called my Post-Corrective Adviser. When I opened up he came shambling in looking shagged, a battered old shlapa on his gulliver, his raincoat filthy. “Ah, Alex boy,” he said to me. “I met your mother, yes. She said something about a pain somewhere. Hence not at school, yes.”
“A rather intolerable pain in the head, brother, sir, “ I said in my gentleman’s goloss. “I think it should clear by this afternoon.”
“Or certainly by this evening, yes,” said P.R. Deltoid. “The evening is a great time, isn’t it, Alex boy? Sit,” he said, “sit, sit,” as though this was his domy and me his guest. And he sat in this starry rocking-chair of my dad’s and began rocking, as if that was all he had come for. I said:
“A cup of the old chai, sir? Tea, I mean.”
“No time,” he said. “No time, yes. Then I said: “To what do I owe the extreme pleasure? Is anything wrong, sir?”
“Wrong?” he said. “Why should you think in terms of there being anything wrong? Have you been doing something you shouldn’t, yes?”
“Just a manner of speech,” I said, “sir.”
“Well,” said P.R. Deltoid, “it’s just a manner of speech from me to you that you watch out, little Alex, because next time, as you very well know, it’s not going to be the corrective school any more.