1984 / George Orwell
| dc.contributor | Bennett, David C. (David Curtis), 1936- School of Anthropology and Sociology University of London London |
| dc.contributor.author | Orwell, George, 1903-1950 |
| dc.coverage.placeName | New York |
| dc.date.accessioned | 2018-07-27 |
| dc.date.accessioned | 2022-08-19T14:51:19Z |
| dc.date.available | 2022-08-19T14:51:19Z |
| dc.date.created | 1949 |
| dc.date.issued | 1992-03-12 |
| dc.identifier | ota:1632 |
| dc.identifier.uri | http://hdl.handle.net/20.500.14106/1632 |
| dc.description.abstract | Resource deposited with the Oxford Text Archive. |
| dc.format.extent | Text data (1 file : ca. 604 KB) |
| dc.format.medium | Digital bitstream |
| dc.language | English |
| dc.language.iso | eng |
| dc.publisher | University of Oxford |
| dc.relation.ispartof | Oxford Text Archive Core Collection |
| dc.rights | Use of this resource is restricted in some manner. Usually this means that it is available for non-commercial use only with prior permission of the depositor and on condition that this header is included in its entirety with any copy distributed. |
| dc.rights.uri | https://hdl.handle.net/20.500.14106/licence-ota |
| dc.rights.label | ACA |
| dc.subject.lcsh | English fiction -- 20th century |
| dc.subject.other | Novels |
| dc.title | 1984 / George Orwell |
| dc.title.alternative | Nineteen eighty-four |
| dc.type | Text |
| has.files | yes |
| branding | Oxford Text Archive |
| branding | Oxford Text Archive |
| files.size | 618007 |
| files.count | 1 |
| otaterms.date.range | 1900-1999 |
Files for this item
- Name
- orw1984-1632.txt
- Size
- 603.52 KB
- Format
- Text file
- Description
- Version of the work in plain text format
<Text id=Orw1984> <Author>Orwell, George</Author> <Title>1984: A Novel</Title> <Edition>New York: New American Library, 1961</Edition> <Date>1949</Date> <body> <loc><locdoc>Or1984_6</locdoc><milestone n=6> <div0 type=part n=1> <div1 type=chapter n=1> <p>It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Winston Smith, his chin nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through the glass doors of Victory Mansions, though not quickly enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from entering along with him. <p>The hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and old rag mats. At one end of it a coloured poster, too large for indoor display, had been tacked to the wall. It depicted simply an enormous face, more than a metre wide: the face of a man of about forty-five, with a heavy black moustache and ruggedly handsome features. Winston made for the stairs. It was no use trying the lift. Even at the best of times it was seldom worki . . .
