ures which had something to do with the production of pig-iron.The voice came from an oblong metal plaque like a dulled mirror which formed part of the surface of the right-hand wall.Winston turned a switch and the voice sank somewhat,though the words were still distinguish- able.The instrument(the telescreen,it was called)could be dimmed,but there was no way of shutting it off complete- ly.He moved over to the window:a smallish,frail figure, the meagreness of his body merely emphasized by the blue overalls which were the uniform of the party.His hair was very fair,his face naturally sanguine,his skin roughened by coarse soap and blunt razor blades and the cold of the win- ter that had just ended. Outside,even through the shut window-pane,the world looked cold.Down in the street little eddies of wind were whirling dust and torn paper into spirals,and though the sun was shining and the sky a harsh blue,there seemed to be no colour in anything,except the posters that were plastered everywhere.The blackmoustachio'd face gazed down from every commanding corner.There was one on the house-front immediately opposite.BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU,the caption said,while the dark eyes looked deep into Winston's own.Down at street level an- other poster,torn at one corner,flapped fitfully in the wind, alternately covering and uncovering the single word IN- GSOC.In the far distance a helicopter skimmed down between the roofs,hovered for an instant like a bluebottle, and darted away again with a curving flight.It was the po- lice patrol,snooping into people's windows.The patrols did 19841984 ures which had something to do with the production of pig-iron. The voice came from an oblong metal plaque like a dulled mirror which formed part of the surface of the right-hand wall. Winston turned a switch and the voice sank somewhat, though the words were still distinguish￾able. The instrument (the telescreen, it was called) could be dimmed, but there was no way of shutting it off complete￾ly. He moved over to the window: a smallish, frail figure, the meagreness of his body merely emphasized by the blue overalls which were the uniform of the party. His hair was very fair, his face naturally sanguine, his skin roughened by coarse soap and blunt razor blades and the cold of the win￾ter that had just ended. Outside, even through the shut window-pane, the world looked cold. Down in the street little eddies of wind were whirling dust and torn paper into spirals, and though the sun was shining and the sky a harsh blue, there seemed to be no colour in anything, except the posters that were plastered everywhere. The blackmoustachio’d face gazed down from every commanding corner. There was one on the house-front immediately opposite. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU, the caption said, while the dark eyes looked deep into Winston’s own. Down at street level an￾other poster, torn at one corner, flapped fitfully in the wind, alternately covering and uncovering the single word IN￾GSOC. In the far distance a helicopter skimmed down between the roofs, hovered for an instant like a bluebottle, and darted away again with a curving flight. It was the po￾lice patrol, snooping into people’s windows. The patrols did