a forest of
chimney-pots. Winston noticed that the furniture was still arranged as
though the room were meant to be lived in. There was a strip of carpet on
the floor, a picture or two on the walls, and a deep, slatternly arm-chair
drawn up to the fireplace. An old-fashioned glass clock with a twelve-hour
face was ticking away on the mantelpiece. Under the window, and occupying
nearly a quarter of the room, was an enormous bed with the mattress still
on it.
'We lived here till my wife died,' said the old man half
apologetically. 'I'm selling the furniture off by little and little. Now
that's a beautiful mahogany bed, or at least it would be if you could get
the bugs out of it. But I dare say you'd find it a little bit cumbersome.'
He was holdlng the lamp high up, so as to illuminate the whole room,
and in the warm dim light the place looked curiously inviting. The thought
flitted through Winston's mind that it would probably be quite easy to rent
the room for a few dollar