Jimmie I. Addo
December 20th 07, 05:03 AM
part. But at the last moment, while
the crowd still hemmed them in, her hand felt for his and gave it a
fleeting squeeze.
It could not have been ten seconds, and yet it seemed a long time that
their hands were clasped together. He had time to learn every detail of her
hand. He explored the long fingers, the shapely nails, the work-hardened
palm with its row of callouses, the smooth flesh under the wrist. Merely
from feeling it he would have known it by sight. In the same instant it
occurred to him that he did not know what colour the girl's eyes were. They
were probably brown, but people with dark hair sometimes had blue eyes. To
turn his head and look at her would have been inconceivable folly. With
hands locked together, invisible among the press of bodies, they stared
steadily in front of them, and instead of the eyes of the girl, the eyes of
the aged prisoner gazed mournfully at Winston out of nests of hair.
II
Winston picked his way up the lane through dappled light and shade,
stepping out into pools of gold wherever the boughs parted. Under the trees
to the left of him the ground was misty with bluebells. The air seemed to
the crowd still hemmed them in, her hand felt for his and gave it a
fleeting squeeze.
It could not have been ten seconds, and yet it seemed a long time that
their hands were clasped together. He had time to learn every detail of her
hand. He explored the long fingers, the shapely nails, the work-hardened
palm with its row of callouses, the smooth flesh under the wrist. Merely
from feeling it he would have known it by sight. In the same instant it
occurred to him that he did not know what colour the girl's eyes were. They
were probably brown, but people with dark hair sometimes had blue eyes. To
turn his head and look at her would have been inconceivable folly. With
hands locked together, invisible among the press of bodies, they stared
steadily in front of them, and instead of the eyes of the girl, the eyes of
the aged prisoner gazed mournfully at Winston out of nests of hair.
II
Winston picked his way up the lane through dappled light and shade,
stepping out into pools of gold wherever the boughs parted. Under the trees
to the left of him the ground was misty with bluebells. The air seemed to