jaylar
As Winston sat in the Chestnut Tree Bar, a waiter, unbidden, brought the chessboard and the current issue of The Times, with the page turned down at the chess problem.
Seeing Winston’s glass was empty, the waiter filled it.
The chessboard was always waiting for him, his corner table always reserved; even when the place was full he had it to himself.
Nobody cared to be seen sitting too close to him.
Winston never counted his drinks. At irregular intervals he was given a bill. He had the impression that they always undercharged him.
It would have made no difference if it had been the other way, he always plenty of money. He even had a job, a sinecure, more highly-paid than his old job had been.
