[Granby]

take her in his arms, but she disengaged herself rather
hurriedly, partly because she was still holding the tool-bag.
'Half a second,' she said. 'Just let me show you what I've brought.
Did you bring some of that filthy Victory Coffee? I thought you would. You
can chuck it away again, because we shan't be needing it. Look here.'
She fell on her knees, threw open the bag, and tumbled out some
spanners and a screwdriver that filled the top part of it. Underneath were
a number of neat paper packets. The first packet that she passed to Winston
had a strange and yet vaguely familiar feeling. It was filled with some
kind of heavy, sand-like stuff which yielded wherever you touched it.
'It isn't sugar?' he said.
'Real sugar. Not saccharine, sugar. And here's a loaf of bread --
proper white bread, not our bloody stuff -- and a little pot of jam. And
here's a tin of milk -- but look! This is the one I'm really proud of. I
had to wrap a bit of sacking round it, because--'
But she did not need to tell him why she had wrapped it up. The smell
was already filling the room, a rich hot smell which seemed like an
emanation from his early childhood, but which one did occasionally meet
with even now, blowing down a passage-way before a door slammed, or
diffusing itself mysteriously in a crowded street, sniffed for an instant
and then lost again.
'It's coffee,' he murmured, 'real coffee.'
'It's Inner Party coffee. There's a whole kilo here,' she said.
'How did you manage to get hold of all these things?'
'It's all Inner Party stuff. There's nothing those swine don't have,
nothing. But of course waiters and servants and people pinch things, and --
look, I got a little packet of tea as well.'
Winston had squatted down be