*poke*
 

away again when he caught anyone's eye.
The door opened, and another prisoner was brought in whose appearance
sent a momentary chill through Winston. He was a commonplace, mean-looking
man who might have been an engineer or technician of some kind. But what
was startling was the emaciation of his face. It was like a skull. Because
of its thinness the mouth and eyes looked disproportionately large, and the
eyes seemed filled with a murderous, unappeasable hatred of somebody or
something.
The man sat down on the bench at a little distance from Winston.
Winston did not look at him again, but the tormented, skull-like face was
as vivid in his mind as though it had been straight in front of his eyes.
Suddenly he realized what was the matter. The man was dying of starvation.
The same thought seemed to occur almost simultaneously to everyone in the
cell. There was a very faint stirring all the way round the bench. The eyes
of the chinless man kept flitting towards the skull-faced man, then turning
guiltily away, then being dragged back by an irresistible attraction.
Presently he began to fidget on his seat. At last he stood up, waddled
clumsily across the cell, dug down into the pocket of his overalls, and,
with an abashed air, held out a grimy piece of bread to the skull-faced
man.
There was a furious, deafening roar from the telescreen. The chinless
man jumped in his tracks. The skull-faced man had quickly thrust his hands
behind his back, as though demonstrating to all the world that he refused
the gift.
'Bumstead!' roared the voice. '2713 Bumstead J! Let fall that piece of
bread!'
The chinless man dropped the piece of bread on the floor.
'Remain standing where you are,' said the voice. 'Face the door. Make
no movement.'
The chinless man obeye