1984

           Anythingold,andforthatmatteranythingbeautiful,wasalwaysvaguelysuspect. Theoldmanhadgrownnoticeablymorecheerfulafterreceivingthefourdollars.Winstonrealizedthathewouldhaveacceptedthreeoreventwo. 

           ‘There’sanotherroomupstairsthatyoumightcaretotakealookat,’hesaid. ‘There’snotmuchinit.Justafewpieces. We’lldowithalightifwe’regoingupstairs.’ 

           Helitanotherlamp,and,withbowedback,ledthewayslowlyupthesteepandwornstairsandalongatinypassage, intoaroomwhichdidnotgiveonthestreetbutlookedoutonacobbledyardandaforestofchimney-pots. Winstonnoticedthatthefurniturewasstillarrangedasthoughtheroomweremeanttobelivedin. Therewasastripofcarpetonthefloor,apictureortwoonthewalls,andadeep,slatternlyarm-chairdrawnuptothefireplace. Anold-fashionedglassclockwithatwelve-hourfacewastickingawayonthemantelpiece. Underthewindow,andoccupyingnearlyaquarteroftheroom,wasanenormousbedwiththemattressstillonit. 

           ‘Welivedheretillmywifedied,’saidtheoldmanhalfapologetically. ‘I’msellingthefurnitureoffbylittleandlittle. Nowthat’sabeautifulmahoganybed,oratleastitwouldbeifyoucouldgetthebugsoutofit. ButIdaresayyou’dfinditalittlebitcumbersome.’ 

           Hewasholdingthelamphighup,soastoilluminatethewholeroom,andinthewarmdimlighttheplacelookedcuriouslyinviting. ThethoughtflittedthroughWinston’smindthatitwouldprobablybequiteeasytorenttheroomforafewdollarsaweek,ifhedaredtotaketherisk. Itwasawild,impossiblenotion,tobeabandonedassoonasthoughtof; buttheroomhadawakenedinhimasortofnostalgia,asortofancestralmemory.