Е. Г. Тигонен

they have simply been trapped by a routine which makes thought impossible

He would have expected me to have been at some clip-joint talking tough to a blonde or wrestling rough with some redhead.

“Because this stick, though originally a very handsome one has been so knocked about that I can hardly imagine a town practitioner carrying it. The thick-iron ferrule is worn down, so it is evident that he has done a great amount of walking with it.”

to an heir born accidentally at the last possible minute when earlier intended pregnancies had produced five daughters. My frail eightysix year old father in his second childhood saw me chiefly as the means whereby a much hated cousin was to be done out of an earldom 2 he had coveted: my father delighted in my existence and I remained to him a symbol.

made it a good deal further

A church baby we like to call it.

bear so heavy and unwelcome tidings; but it is the will of God that the prince’s aflfiction abideth still

Banks of gorgeous flowers were on every hand, and birds with rare and brilliant plumage sang and fluttered in the trees and bushes

It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Winston Smith, his chin nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through the glass doors of Victory Mansions, though not quickly enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from entering along with him. The hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and old rag mats. At one end of it a coloured poster, too large for indoor display, had been tacked to the wall. It depicted simply an enormous face, more than a metre wide: the face of a man of about forty-five, with a heavy black moustache and ruggedly handsome features. Winston made for the stairs[1].

arising from domestic affairs changed naturally into pity and contempt as he turned over the almost endless creations of the last century;