108 1984
sawdust, and sour beer. In an angle formed by a projecting
house-front three men were standing very close togeth-
er, the middle one of them holding a folded-up newspaper
which the other two were studying over his shoulder. Even
before he was near enough to make out the expression on
their faces, Winston could see absorption in every line of
their bodies. It was obviously some serious piece of news
that they were reading. He was a few paces away from them
when suddenly the group broke up and two of the men were
in violent altercation. For a moment they seemed almost on
the point of blows.
‘Can’t you bleeding well listen to what I say? I tell you
no number ending in seven ain’t won for over fourteen
months!’
‘Yes, it ‘as, then!’
‘No, it ‘as not! Back ‘ome I got the ‘ole lot of ‘em for over
two years wrote down on a piece of paper. I takes ‘em down
reg’lar as the clock. An’ I tell you, no number ending in
seven——’
‘Yes, a seven ‘AS won! I could pretty near tell you the
bleeding number. Four oh seven, it ended in. It were in Feb-
ruary—second week in February.’
‘February your grandmother! I got it all down in black
and white. An’ I tell you, no number——’
‘Oh, pack it in!’ said the third man.
They were talking about the Lottery. Winston looked
back when he had gone thirty metres. They were still ar-
guing, with vivid, passionate faces. The Lottery, with its
weekly pay-out of enormous prizes, was the one public event