1984

           ‘It’scoffee,’hemurmured,‘realcoffee.’ 

           ‘It’sInnerPartycoffee.There’sawholekilohere,’shesaid. 

           ‘Howdidyoumanagetogetholdofallthesethings?’ 

           ‘It’sallInnerPartystuff. There’snothingthoseswinedon’thave,nothing. Butofcoursewaitersandservantsandpeoplepinchthings,and—look,Igotalittlepacketofteaaswell.’ 

           Winstonhadsquatteddownbesideher.Hetoreopenacornerofthepacket. 

           ‘It’srealtea.Notblackberryleaves.’ 

           ‘There’sbeenalotofteaaboutlately.They’vecapturedIndia,orsomething,’shesaidvaguely. ‘Butlisten,dear.Iwantyoutoturnyourbackonmeforthreeminutes.Goandsitontheothersideofthebed. Don’tgotoonearthewindow.Anddon’tturnroundtillItellyou.’ 

           Winstongazedabstractedlythroughthemuslincurtain. Downintheyardthered-armedwomanwasstillmarchingtoandfrobetweenthewashtubandtheline. Shetooktwomorepegsoutofhermouthandsangwithdeepfeeling: 

           Theysyethattime’ealsallthings, 

           Theysyeyoucanalwaysforget; 

           Butthesmilesan’thetearsacrorsstheyears 

           Theytwistmy’eart-stringsyet!