Nationwide & Cup Drivers

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.
The hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and old rag mats. At one end of it
a coloured poster, too large for indoor display, had been tacked to the
wall. It depicted simply an enormous face, more than a metre wide: the face
of a man of about forty-five, with a heavy black moustache and ruggedly
handsome features. Winston made for the stairs. It was no use trying the
lift. Even at the best of times it was seldom working, and at present the
electric current was cut off during daylight hours. It was part of the
economy drive in preparation for Hate Week. The flat was seven flights up,
and Winston, who was thirty-nine and had a varicose ulcer above his right
ankle, went slowly, resting several times on the way. On each landing,
opposite the lift-shaft, the poster with the enormous face gazed from the
wall. It was one of those pictures which are so contrived that the eyes
follow you about when you move. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU, the caption
beneath it ran.
Inside the flat a fruity voice was reading out a list of figures which
had someth