Seven times Winston and Julia met during June.
Winston had ceased drinking, gained weight, stopped coughing. His life was no longer intolerable.
They knew that the situation could not last. The sense of impending death seemed as real as the bed they lay on.
Sometimes, held the illusion not merely of safety but of permanence. So long as they were actually in this room they felt, no harm could come to them.
To get there was difficult and dangerous, but the room itself was sanctuary.
Sometimes Winston imagined his long estranged wife, Katharine, would die, and somehow he and Julia could marry.
Sometimes they thought of committing suicide together.
Sometimes, disappearing; learning to speak with proletarian accents, get jobs in a factory and live out their lives undetected in a back-street.
They knew it was all fantasy, that there was no escape.