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quarters and bought herself a complete set of make-up ma-
terials. Her lips were deeply reddened, her cheeks rouged,
her nose powdered; there was even a touch of something
under the eyes to make them brighter. It was not very skil-
fully done, but Winston’s standards in such matters were
not high. He had never before seen or imagined a woman of
the Party with cosmetics on her face. The improvement in
her appearance was startling. With just a few dabs of colour
in the right places she had become not only very much pret-
tier, but, above all, far more feminine. Her short hair and
boyish overalls merely added to the effect. As he took her in
his arms a wave of synthetic violets flooded his nostrils. He
remembered the half-darkness of a basement kitchen, and a
woman’s cavernous mouth. It was the very same scent that
she had used; but at the moment it did not seem to matter.
‘Scent too!’ he said.
‘Yes, dear, scent too. And do you know what I’m going to
do next? I’m going to get hold of a real woman’s frock from
somewhere and wear it instead of these bloody trousers. I’ll
wear silk stockings and high-heeled shoes! In this room I’m
going to be a woman, not a Party comrade.’
They flung their clothes off and climbed into the huge
mahogany bed. It was the first time that he had stripped
himself naked in her presence. Until now he had been too
much ashamed of his pale and meagre body, with the vari-
cose veins standing out on his calves and the discoloured
patch over his ankle. There were no sheets, but the blanket
they lay on was threadbare and smooth, and the size and
springiness of the bed astonished both of them. ‘It’s sure