ficed his lunch in the canteen, and he was aware that there was no food in the kitchen except a hunk of dark-coloured bread which had got to be saved for tomorrow's breakfast.
. Then there was a wonderful shot of a child's arm going up up up right up into the air a helicopter with a camera in its nose must have followed it up.
. He felt deeply drawn to him, and not solely because he was intrigued by the contrast between O Brien s urbane manner and his prize-fighter's physique.
. Much more it was because of a secretly held belief - or perhaps not even a belief, merely a hope - that O Brien s political orthodoxy was not perfect.
. It was a noise that set one s teeth on edge and bristled the hair at the back of one s neck.
. He was the primal traitor, the earliest defiler of the Party's purity.
. Winston's diaphragm was constricted.
. The dull rhythmic tramp of the soldiers boots formed the background to Goldstein's bleating voice.
. Even O Brien s heavy face was flushed.
. It struck Goldstein's nose and bounced off; the voice continued inexorably.
. The voice of Goldstein had become an actual sheep's bleat, and for an instant the face changed into that of a sheep.
. Winston's entrails seemed to grow cold.
. Momentarily he caught O Brien s eye.
. But what most struck Winston was the look of helpless fright on the woman's greyish face.
. The thing that now suddenly struck Winston was that his mother's death.
. His mother's memory tore at his heart because she had died loving him.
. A sudden hot sweat had broken out all over Winston's body.
. Winston's greatest pleasure in life was in his work.
. They were a few metres apart when the left side of the man's face was suddenly contorted by a sort of spasm.
. He took out of the drawer a copy of a children's history textbook which he had borrowed from Mrs. Parsons, and began copying a passage into the diary.
. But when Winston glanced again at Rutherford's ruinous face, he saw that his eyes were full of tears.
. And in a small stationer's shop not far away he had bought his penholder and his bottle of ink.
. The old man's white stubbled face had flushed pink.
. The old man's pale blue eyes moved from the darts board to the bar, and from the bar to the door of the Gents, as though it were in the bar-room that he expected the changes to have occurred.
. The thought flitted through Winston's mind that it would probably be quite easy to rent the room for a few dollars a week, if he dared to take the risk.
. A curious emotion stirred in Winston's heart.
. He was particularly enthusiastic about a papier-mache model of Big Brother s head, two metres wide, which was being made for the occasion by his daughter s troop of Spies.
. 30.In any case he did not know the girl's name, let alone her address.
. Soon he was within arm's length of the girl, but the way was blocked by an enormous prole and an almost equally enormous woman, presumably his wife, who seemed to form an impenetrable wall of flesh.
. The girl's waist in the bend of his arm was soft and warm.
. Winston s working week was sixty hours, Julia s was even longer, and their free days varied according to the pressure of work and did not often coincide. Julia, in any case, seldom had an evening completely free.
. And in her practical way she scraped together a small square of dust, and with a twig from a pigeon's nest began drawing a map on the floor.
. Winston looked round the shabby little room above Mr. Charrington's shop.
. The clock's hands said seventeen-twenty. (неодушевлен. предмет)
. He remembered the half-darkness of a basement kitchen, and a woman's cavernous mouth.
. I m going to get hold of a real woman s frock from somewhere and wear it instead of these bloody trousers.
. Perhaps it could be dug out of Mr. Charrington's memory, if he were suitably prompted.
. The paperweight was the room he was in, and the coral was Julia's life and his own, fixed in a sort of eternity at the heart of the crystal.
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