Winston Smith walked through the glass doors of Victory Mansions. The hallway
smelled of boiled cabbage and old rag mats. At one end of
the hallway an acoloured poster, too large for indoor display, had been
tacked to the wall. It depicted simply an enormous face, more than
a metre wide.

Winston kept his back turned to the telescreen. It was safer; though,
he well knew, even a back can be revealing. A kilometre away
the Ministry of Truth, his place of work, towered vast and white.