1 He was singing to please himself.
2 Under the window somebody was singing.
3 'He wasn't singing to us,' said Julia.
4 At the end of it she was still singing.
5 The woman's singing had stopped abruptly.
6 Winston could hear the blood singing in his ears.
7 From below came the familiar sound of singing and the scrape of boots on the flagstones.
8 Down in the yard the woman had stopped singing, but the faint shouts of children floated in from the street.
9 It struck him as a curious fact that he had never heard a member of the Party singing alone and spontaneously.
10 Perhaps it was only when people were somewhere near the starvation level that they had anything to sing about.
11 But the mindless tenderness that he had felt under the hazel tree, while the thrush was singing, had not quite come back.
12 Tirelessly the woman marched to and fro, corking and uncorking herself, singing and falling silent, and pegging out more diapers, and more and yet more.
13 One had the feeling that she would have been perfectly content, if the June evening had been endless and the supply of clothes inexhaustible, to remain there for a thousand years, pegging out diapers and singing rubbish.
14 He could hear the woman singing and the scrape of her shoes on the flagstones, and the cries of the children in the street, and somewhere in the far distance a faint roar of traffic, and yet the room seemed curiously silent, thanks to the absence of a telescreen.
15 It seemed to him that he knew exactly what it felt like to sit in a room like this, in an arm-chair beside an open fire with your feet in the fender and a kettle on the hob; utterly alone, utterly secure, with nobody watching you, no voice pursuing you, no sound except the singing of the kettle and the friendly ticking of the clock.
16 All round the world, in London and New York, in Africa and Brazil, and in the mysterious, forbidden lands beyond the frontiers, in the streets of Paris and Berlin, in the villages of the endless Russian plain, in the bazaars of China and Japan--everywhere stood the same solid unconquerable figure, made monstrous by work and childbearing, toiling from birth to death and still singing.