1 Winston kept his back turned to the telescreen.
2 But at any rate they could plug in your wire whenever they wanted to.
3 At one end of it a coloured poster, too large for indoor display, had been tacked to the wall.
4 The next moment, however, the burning in his belly died down and the world began to look more cheerful.
5 He went back to the living-room and sat down at a small table that stood to the left of the telescreen.
6 He tried to squeeze out some childhood memory that should tell him whether London had always been quite like this.
7 He had set his features into the expression of quiet optimism which it was advisable to wear when facing the telescreen.
8 Inside the flat a fruity voice was reading out a list of figures which had something to do with the production of pig-iron.
9 Even the streets leading up to its outer barriers were roamed by gorilla-faced guards in black uniforms, armed with jointed truncheons.
10 He took a cigarette from a crumpled packet marked VICTORY CIGARETTES and incautiously held it upright, whereupon the tobacco fell out on to the floor.
11 He moved over to the window: a smallish, frail figure, the meagreness of his body merely emphasized by the blue overalls which were the uniform of the party.
12 To one side of it there was a shallow alcove in which Winston was now sitting, and which, when the flats were built, had probably been intended to hold bookshelves.
13 You had to live--did live, from habit that became instinct--in the assumption that every sound you made was overheard, and, except in darkness, every movement scrutinized.
14 It was a place impossible to enter except on official business, and then only by penetrating through a maze of barbed-wire entanglements, steel doors, and hidden machine-gun nests.
15 By leaving the Ministry at this time of day he had sacrificed 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.
16 Winston Smith, his chin nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through the glass doors of Victory Mansions, though not quickly enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from entering along with him.
17 Down in the street little eddies of wind were whirling dust and torn paper into spirals, and though the sun was shining and the sky a harsh blue, there seemed to be no colour in anything, except the posters that were plastered everywhere.
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