1984

           Ayellowrayfromthesinkingsunfellacrossthefootofthebedandlightedupthefireplace,wherethewaterinthepanwasboilingfast. Downintheyardthewomanhadstoppedsinging,butthefaintshoutsofchildrenfloatedinfromthestreet. Hewonderedvaguelywhetherintheabolishedpastithadbeenanormalexperiencetolieinbedlikethis,inthecoolofasummerevening,amanandawomanwithnoclotheson,makinglovewhentheychose,talkingofwhattheychose,notfeelinganycompulsiontogetup,simplylyingthereandlisteningtopeacefulsoundsoutside. Surelytherecouldneverhavebeenatimewhenthatseemedordinary? Juliawokeup,rubbedhereyes,andraisedherselfonherelbowtolookattheoilstove. 

           ‘Halfthatwater’sboiledaway,’shesaid. ‘I’llgetupandmakesomecoffeeinanothermoment. We’vegotanhour. Whattimedotheycutthelightsoffatyourflats?’ 

           ‘Twenty-threethirty.’ 

           ‘It’stwenty-threeatthehostel. Butyouhavetogetinearlierthanthat,because—Hi! Getout,youfilthybrute!’ 

           Shesuddenlytwistedherselfoverinthebed,seizedashoefromthefloor,andsentithurtlingintothecornerwithaboyishjerkofherarm,exactlyashehadseenherflingthedictionaryatGoldstein,thatmorningduringtheTwoMinutesHate. 

           ‘Whatwasit?’hesaidinsurprise. 

           ‘Arat.Isawhimstickhisbeastlynoseoutofthewainscoting. There’saholedownthere. Igavehimagoodfright,anyway.’ 

           ‘Rats!’murmuredWinston.‘Inthisroom!’