It was the alert, cold face of a man of about five-and-thirty. It occurred to Winston that for the first time in his life he was looking, with knowledge, at a member of the Thought Police...
Winston recognised the voice that he had heard a few moments ago on the telescreen. Mr Carrington, the man who had been of great service to him for many years had betrayed him. He was still wearing his old velvet jacket, but his hair, which had been almost white, had turned black. Also, he was not wearing his spectacles. The man entire had undergone a massive transformation. …
