He crushed the unread programme within his hand, striving to converse carelessly with the lady sitting next to him, whom he was expected to entertain.

But his thoughts were afar off, his eyes seeing a gray, misty, silent expanse of desert, growing constantly clearer in its hideous desolation before the advancing dawn.
The vast steel curtain arose with apparent reluctance to the top of the proscenium arch, the chatter of voices ceased, somewhat permitting the struggling orchestra to make itself felt and heard.

Winston shut his teeth, and waited uneasily, the hand upon the rail clenched.

Even more than he had ever expected, awakened memory tortured.

He would have gone out into the solitude of the street, except for the certainty of disturbing others.