because Julia was sleeping with her head in the crook of his arm. Most of
her make-up had transferred itself to his own face or the bolster, but a
light stain of rouge still brought out the beauty of her cheekbone. A
yellow ray from the sinking sun fell across the foot of the bed and lighted
up the fireplace, where the water in the pan was boiling fast. Down in the
yard the woman had stopped singing, but the faint shouts of children
floated in from the street. He wondered vaguely whether in the abolished
past it had been a normal experience to lie in bed like this, in the cool
of a summer evening, a man and a woman with no clothes on, making love when
they chose, talking of what they chose, not feeling any compulsion to get
up, simply lying there and listening to peaceful sounds outside. Surely
there could never have been a time when that seemed ordinary? Julia woke
up, rubbed her eyes, and raised herself on her elbow to look at the
oilstove.
'Half that water's boiled away,' she said. 'I'll get up and make some
coffee in another moment. We've got an hour. What time do they cut the
lights off at your flats?'
'Twenty-three thirty.'
'It's twenty-three at the hostel. But you have to get in earlier than
that, because -- Hi! Get out, you filthy brute!'
She suddenly twisted herself over in the bed, seized a shoe from the
floor, and sent it hurtling into the corner with a boyish jerk of her arm,
exactly as he had seen her fling the dictionary at Goldstein, that morning
during the Two Minutes Hate.
'What was it?' he said in surprise.
'A rat. I saw him stick his beastly nose out of the wainscoting.
There's a hole down there. I gave him a good fright, anyway.'
'Rats!' murmured Winston. 'In this room!'
'They're all over the place,' said Julia indifferently as she lay down
again. 'We