a gnawing, unwholesome kind of hunger. It might be
twenty-four hours since he had eaten, it might be thirty-six. He still did
not know, probably never would know, whether it had been morning or evening
when they arrested him. Since he was arrested he had not been fed.
He sat as still as he could on the narrow bench, with his hands
crossed on his knee. He had already learned to sit still. If you made
unexpected movements they yelled at you from the telescreen. But the
craving for food was growing upon him. What he longed for above all was a
piece of bread. He had an idea that there were a few breadcrumbs in the
pocket of his overalls. It was even possible -- he thought this because
from time to time something seemed to tickle his leg -- that there might be
a sizeable bit of crust there. In the end the temptation to find out
overcame his fear; he slipped a hand into his pocket.
'Smith!' yelled a voice from the telescreen. '6079 Smith W! Hands out
of pockets in the cells!'
He sat still again, his hands crossed on his knee. Before being
brought here he had been taken to another place which must have been an
ordinary prison or a temporary lock-up used by the patrols. He did not know
how long he had been there