1984 - Planet eBook

he stepped through the doorway. If questioned, he couldplausibly say that he was trying to buy razor blades.The proprietor had just lighted a hanging oil lamp whichgave off an unclean but friendly smell. He was a man of perhapssixty, frail and bowed, with a long, benevolent nose,and mild eyes distorted by thick spectacles. His hair was almostwhite, but his eyebrows were bushy and still black. Hisspectacles, his gentle, fussy movements, and the fact that hewas wearing an aged jacket of black velvet, gave him a vagueair of intellectuality, as though he had been some kind ofliterary man, or perhaps a musician. His voice was soft, asthough faded, and his accent less debased than that of themajority of proles.‘I recognized you on the pavement,’ he said immediately.‘You’re the gentleman that bought the young lady’s keepsakealbum. That was a beautiful bit of paper, that was. Creamlaid,it used to be called. There’s been no paper like thatmade for—oh, I dare say fifty years.’ He peered at Winstonover the top of his spectacles. ‘Is there anything special Ican do for you? Or did you just want to look round?’‘I was passing,’ said Winston vaguely. ‘I just looked in. Idon’t want anything in particular.’‘It’s just as well,’ said the other, ‘because I don’t supposeI could have satisfied you.’ He made an apologetic gesturewith his softpalmed hand. ‘You see how it is; an empty shop,you might say. Between you and me, the antique trade’s justabout finished. No demand any longer, and no stock either.Furniture, china, glass it’s all been broken up by degrees.And of course the metal stuff’s mostly been melted down. I