‘There’s been a lot of tea about lately. They’ve captured India, or something,’ she said vaguely. ‘But listen, dear. I want you to turn your back on me for three minutes. Go and sit on the other side of the bed.
Don’t go too near the window. And don’t turn round till I tell you.’
Winston gazed abstractedly through the muslin curtain.
Down in the yard the red-armed woman was still marching to and fro between the washtub and the line. She took two more pegs out of her mouth and sang with deep feeling: