I was interrupted. The switchboard clicked. I raised my eyes,--- O-90, of course! In half a minute she herself will be here to take me for the walk.

Dear O--! She always seems to me to look like her name, O--. She is approximately ten centimeters shorter than the required Maternal Norm. Therefore she appears all round; the rose-colored O of her lips is open to meet every word of mine. She has a round soft dimple on her wrist. Children have such dimples. As she came in, the logical fly-wheel was still buzzing in my head, and following its inertia, I began to tell her about my new formula which embraced the machines and the dancers and all of us.

Notice how this passage completely contradicts the previous? It has something almost poetic about it, it reeks of a humanity that is otherwise entirely absent from Zamyatin's Taylorist dystopia. Our protagonist acknowledges, even if only unconsciously, that he is driven by forces other than those placed upon him by those in power, and that those forces are more primal in nature.

As also discussed here, man has within himself the potential to place himself under certain... let's call them constraints. This is what acting is and yes, this is what dancing also is and the same applies to any other skill or habit which takes time to learn. Furthermore, some may go further than others into mastering this temporary suspension of freedom and unexpectedly, they may end up appreciating and practicing actual freedoms more often and in general more than those who would not willfully apply such constraints.

As described in Zamyatin's piece, today's socialism has indeed made it infinitely easier for statal machineries to educate individuals, rather than allow them to educate themselves. Fortunately, the state needn't "allow" anything, as the closed doors are for the most part in the minds of the victims.