1 He crossed the room into the tiny kitchen.
2 Winston noticed that the furniture was still arranged as though the room were meant to be lived in.
3 DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER was written all over it, in letters almost big enough to be legible across the room.
4 It was partly the unusual geography of the room that had suggested to him the thing that he was now about to do.
5 Under the window, and occupying nearly a quarter of the room, was an enormous bed with the mattress still on it.
6 A game of darts which was going on at the other end of the room interrupted itself for perhaps as much as thirty seconds.
7 On the far side of the room there was a small bar, a mere hole in the wall, where gin could be bought at ten cents the large nip.
8 It was horribly dangerous, but at any rate there was no telescreen in the room, a point he had made sure of as soon as he came in.
9 Before the Hate had proceeded for thirty seconds, uncontrollable exclamations of rage were breaking out from half the people in the room.
10 He was about to buy some more beer when the old man suddenly got up and shuffled rapidly into the stinking urinal at the side of the room.
11 The next moment a hideous, grinding speech, as of some monstrous machine running without oil, burst from the big telescreen at the end of the room.
12 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.
13 It was a wild, impossible notion, to be abandoned as soon as thought of; but the room had awakened in him a sort of nostalgia, a sort of ancestral memory.
14 Winston was just taking his place in one of the middle rows when two people whom he knew by sight, but had never spoken to, came unexpectedly into the room.
15 Parsons, Winston's fellow-tenant at Victory Mansions, was in fact threading his way across the room--a tubby, middle-sized man with fair hair and a froglike face.
16 On the far side of the room, sitting at a table alone, a small, curiously beetle-like man was drinking a cup of coffee, his little eyes darting suspicious glances from side to side.
17 From the table at Winston's left, a little behind his back, someone was talking rapidly and continuously, a harsh gabble almost like the quacking of a duck, which pierced the general uproar of the room.
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