up those pieces,' he said sharply.
A man stooped to obey. The cockney accent had disappeared; Winston
suddenly realized whose voice it was that he had heard a few moments ago on
the telescreen. Mr. Charrington was still wearing his old velvet jacket,
but his hair, which had been almost white, had turned black. Also he was
not wearing his spectacles. He gave Winston a single sharp glance, as
though verifying his identity, and then paid no more attention to him. He
was still recognizable, but he was not the same person any longer. His body
had straightened, and seemed to have grown bigger. His face had undergone
only tiny changes that had nevertheless worked a complete transformation.
The black eyebrows were less bushy, the wrinkles were gone, the whole lines
of the face seemed to have altered; even the nose seemed shorter. It was
the alert, cold face of a man of about five-and-thirty. It occurred to
Winston that for the first time in his life he was looking, with knowledge,
at a member of the Thought Police.

* * *



PART III

I

He did not know where he was. Presumably he was in the Ministry of
Love, but