He did not look at her. He unpacked his tray and promptly
began eating. It was all-important to speak at once,
before anyone else came, but now a terrible fear had taken
possession of him. A week had gone by since she had first
approached him. She would have changed her mind, she
must have changed her mind! It was impossible that this affair
should end successfully; such things did not happen in
real life. He might have flinched altogether from speaking if
at this moment he had not seen Ampleforth, the hairy-eared
poet, wandering limply round the room with a tray, looking
for a place to sit down. In his vague way Ampleforth
was attached to Winston, and would certainly sit down at
his table if he caught sight of him. There was perhaps a minute
in which to act. Both Winston and the girl were eating
steadily. The stuff they were eating was a thin stew, actually
a soup, of haricot beans. In a low murmur Winston began
speaking. Neither of them looked up; steadily they spooned
the watery stuff into their mouths, and between spoonfuls
exchanged the few necessary words in low expressionless
voices.
(By Angela Lupo)
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