1984

           Atthismomenthistrainofthoughtstoppedabruptly. Hehaltedandlookedup. Hewasinanarrowstreet,withafewdarklittleshops,interspersedamongdwelling-houses. Immediatelyabovehisheadtherehungthreediscolouredmetalballswhichlookedasiftheyhadoncebeengilded. Heseemedtoknowtheplace. Ofcourse! Hewasstandingoutsidethejunk-shopwherehehadboughtthediary. 

           Atwingeoffearwentthroughhim. Ithadbeenasufficientlyrashacttobuythebookinthebeginning,andhehadswornnevertocomeneartheplaceagain. Andyettheinstantthatheallowedhisthoughtstowander,hisfeethadbroughthimbackhereoftheirownaccord. Itwaspreciselyagainstsuicidalimpulsesofthiskindthathehadhopedtoguardhimselfbyopeningthediary. Atthesametimehenoticedthatalthoughitwasnearlytwenty-onehourstheshopwasstillopen. Withthefeelingthathewouldbelessconspicuousinsidethanhangingaboutonthepavement,hesteppedthroughthedoorway. Ifquestioned,hecouldplausiblysaythathewastryingtobuyrazorblades. 

           Theproprietorhadjustlightedahangingoillampwhichgaveoffanuncleanbutfriendlysmell. Hewasamanofperhapssixty,frailandbowed,withalong,benevolentnose,andmildeyesdistortedbythickspectacles. Hishairwasalmostwhite,buthiseyebrowswerebushyandstillblack. Hisspectacles,hisgentle,fussymovements,andthefactthathewaswearinganagedjacketofblackvelvet,gavehimavagueairofintellectuality,asthoughhehadbeensomekindofliteraryman,orperhapsamusician. Hisvoicewassoft,asthoughfaded,andhisaccentlessdebasedthanthatofthemajorityofproles. 

           ‘Irecognizedyouonthepavement,’hesaidimmediately. ‘You’rethegentlemanthatboughttheyounglady’skeepsakealbum.