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FOOTER
Page title goes here
It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks
were striking thirteen. Winston Smith, his chin
nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape
the vile wind, slipped quickly through the glass
doors of Victory Mansions, though not quickly
enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from
entering along with him.
The hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and old
rag mats. At one end of it a coloured poster,
too large for indoor display, had been tacked to
the wall. It depicted simply an enormous face,
more than a metre wide: the face of a
man of about forty-five, with a heavy black
moustache and ruggedly handsome features.
Winston made for the stairs. It was no use
trying the lift. Even at the best of times it was
seldom working, and at present the electric
current was cut off during daylight hours. It
was part of the economy drive in preparation
for Hate Week. The flat was seven flights up,
Logo Logo
Page title goes here
It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks
were striking thirteen. Winston Smith, his chin
nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape
the vile wind, slipped quickly through the glass
doors of Victory Mansions, though not quickly
enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from
entering along with him.
The hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and old
rag mats. At one end of it a coloured poster,
too large for indoor display, had been tacked to
the wall. It depicted simply an enormous face,
more than a metre wide: the face of a
man of about forty-five, with a heavy black
moustache and ruggedly handsome features.
Winston made for the stairs. It was no use
trying the lift. Even at the best of times it was
seldom working, and at present the electric
current was cut off during daylight hours. It was part of the economy drive in preparation for Hate Week. The flat was seven flights up, and Winston, who was thirty-nine and had a varicose ulcer
slowly, resting several times on the way. On each landing, opposite the lift-shaft, the poster with the enormous face gazed from the wall. It was one of those pictures which are so contrived that th
when you move. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU, the caption beneath it ran.
Personal
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Business
About Vodafone
Logo
Page title goes here
It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks
were striking thirteen. Winston Smith, his chin
nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape
the vile wind, slipped quickly through the glass
doors of Victory Mansions, though not quickly
enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from
entering along with him.
The hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and old
rag mats. At one end of it a coloured poster,
too large for indoor display, had been tacked to
the wall. It depicted simply an enormous face,
more than a metre wide: the face of a
man of about forty-five, with a heavy black
moustache and ruggedly handsome features.
Winston made for the stairs. It was no use
trying the lift. Even at the best of times it was
seldom working, and at present the electric
current was cut off during daylight hours. It was part of the economy drive in preparation for Hate Week. The flat was seven flights up, and W
slowly, resting several times on the way. On each landing, opposite the lift-shaft, the poster with the enormous face gazed from the wall. It w
when you move. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU, the caption beneath it ran.
Inside the flat a fruity voice was reading out a list of figures which had something to do with the production of pig-iron. The voice came from
Personal
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