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if it so happened that you wanted to buy it, that’d cost you
four dollars. I can remember when a thing like that would
have fetched eight pounds, and eight pounds was—well, I
can’t work it out, but it was a lot of money. But who cares
about genuine antiques nowadays—even the few that’s
left?’
Winston immediately paid over the four dollars and slid
the coveted thing into his pocket. What appealed to him
about it was not so much its beauty as the air it seemed to
possess of belonging to an age quite different from the pres-
ent one. The soft, rainwatery glass was not like any glass that
he had ever seen. The thing was doubly attractive because
of its apparent uselessness, though he could guess that it
must once have been intended as a paperweight. It was very
heavy in his pocket, but fortunately it did not make much
of a bulge. It was a queer thing, even a compromising thing,
for a Party member to have in his possession. Anything old,
and for that matter anything beautiful, was always vaguely
suspect. The old man had grown noticeably more cheerful
after receiving the four dollars. Winston realized that he
would have accepted three or even two.
‘There’s another room upstairs that you might care to
take a look at,’ he said. ‘There’s not much in it. Just a few
pieces. We’ll do with a light if we’re going upstairs.’
He lit another lamp, and, with bowed back, led the way
slowly up the steep and worn stairs and along a tiny passage,
into a room which did not give on the street but looked out
on a cobbled yard and a forest of chimney-pots. Winston
noticed that the furniture was still arranged as though the