Robert Trudell
December 25th 07, 10:10 PM
what the girls would be like in ten years" time, and old bent creatures
shuffling along on splayed feet, and ragged barefooted children who played
in the puddles and then scattered at angry yells from their mothers.
Perhaps a quarter of the windows in the street were broken and boarded up.
Most of the people paid no attention to Winston; a few eyed him with a sort
of guarded curiosity. Two monstrous women with brick-red forearms folded
across thelr aprons were talking outside a doorway. Winston caught scraps
of conversation as he approached.
'"Yes," I says to 'er, "that's all very well," I says. "But if you'd
of been in my place you'd of done the same as what I done. It's easy to
criticize," I says, "but you ain't got the same problems as what I got."'
'Ah,' said the other, 'that's jest it. That's jest where it is.'
The strident voices stopped abruptly. The women studied him in hostile
silence as he went past. But it was not hostility, exactly; merely a kind
of wariness, a momentary stiffening, as at the passing of some unfamiliar
animal. The blue overalls of the Party could not be a common sight in a
street like this. Indeed, it was unwise to be seen in such places, unless
you had definite business there. The patrols might stop you if you happened
to run into them. 'May I see your papers, comrade? What are you doing here?
What time did you leave work? Is this your usual way home?' -- and so on
and so forth. Not that there was any rule against walking home by an
unusual route: but it was enough to draw attention to you if the Thought
Police heard about it.
Suddenly the whole street was in commotion. There were yells of
warning from all sides. People were shooting into the doorways like
shuffling along on splayed feet, and ragged barefooted children who played
in the puddles and then scattered at angry yells from their mothers.
Perhaps a quarter of the windows in the street were broken and boarded up.
Most of the people paid no attention to Winston; a few eyed him with a sort
of guarded curiosity. Two monstrous women with brick-red forearms folded
across thelr aprons were talking outside a doorway. Winston caught scraps
of conversation as he approached.
'"Yes," I says to 'er, "that's all very well," I says. "But if you'd
of been in my place you'd of done the same as what I done. It's easy to
criticize," I says, "but you ain't got the same problems as what I got."'
'Ah,' said the other, 'that's jest it. That's jest where it is.'
The strident voices stopped abruptly. The women studied him in hostile
silence as he went past. But it was not hostility, exactly; merely a kind
of wariness, a momentary stiffening, as at the passing of some unfamiliar
animal. The blue overalls of the Party could not be a common sight in a
street like this. Indeed, it was unwise to be seen in such places, unless
you had definite business there. The patrols might stop you if you happened
to run into them. 'May I see your papers, comrade? What are you doing here?
What time did you leave work? Is this your usual way home?' -- and so on
and so forth. Not that there was any rule against walking home by an
unusual route: but it was enough to draw attention to you if the Thought
Police heard about it.
Suddenly the whole street was in commotion. There were yells of
warning from all sides. People were shooting into the doorways like