He made a few more jerky movements up and down, several times, casting a longing glance at the lavatory pan. Then he suddenly ripped down his shorts.
‘Excuse me, old man,’ he said. ‘I can’t help it. It’s the waiting.’ He plumped his large posterior into the lavatory pan. Winston covered his face with his hands. ‘Smith!’ yelled the voice from the telescreen. ‘6079 Smith W! Uncover your face. No faces covered in the cells.’