in plaats van afbeelding een x bij internet

a neighbour on the same floor.
('Mrs.' was a word somewhat discountenanced by the Party -- you were
supposed to call everyone 'comrade' -- but with some women one used it
instinctively.) She was a woman of about thirty, but looking much older.
One had the impression that there was dust in the creases of her face.
Winston followed her down the passage. These amateur repair jobs were an
almost daily irritation. Victory Mansions were old flats, built in 1930 or
thereabouts, and were falling to pieces. The plaster flaked constantly from
ceilings and walls, the pipes burst in every hard frost, the roof leaked
whenever there was snow, the heating system was usually running at half
steam when it was not closed down altogether from motives of economy.
Repairs, except what you could do for yourself, had to be sanctioned by
remote committees which were liable to hold up even the mending of a
window-pane for two years.
'Of course it's only because Tom isn't home,' said Mrs. Parsons
vaguely.
The Parsons" flat was bigger than Winston's, and dingy in a different
way. Everything had a battered, trampled-on look, as though the place had
just been visited by some large violent animal. Games impedimenta --
hockey-sticks, boxing-gloves, a burst football, a pair of sweaty shorts
turned inside out -- lay all over the floor, and on the table there was a
litter of dirty dishes and dog-eared exercise-books. On the walls were
scarlet banners of the Youth League and the Spies, and a full-sized poster
of Big Brother. There was the u