In the increasing light of the morning he could observe how the long night had marked her face with new lines of weariness, had brought to it new shadows of care.

It was not alone the dulled, lustreless eyes, but also those hollows under them, and the drawn lips, all combining to tell the story of physical fatigue, and a heart-sickness well-nigh unendurable.

Unable to bear the sight, Winston turned away, walking to the end of the short platform, staring off objectless into the grim desert, fighting manfully in an effort to conquer himself.

This was a struggle, a remorseless struggle, for both of them; he must do nothing, say nothing, which should weaken her, or add an ounce to her burden.
He came back again, his lips firmly closed in repression.
"Our train is nearly here," he said in lack of something better with which to break the constrained silence.
She glanced about doubtfully, first toward the yet distant train, then up into his face.
"When is the local east due here?
Do you know ?" "Probably an hour later than the express.

At least, I judge so from the time of its arrival at Bolton," he responded, surprised at the question.