The Complete Novels of George Orwell
“With a half-conscious gesture of caution he was clutching the lapel of his coat, holding it tight against him. In there, stowed away in his right-hand inner pocket, was an object whose very existence he partly doubted. It was a stout blue envelope with an American stamp; in the envelope was a cheque for fifty dollars; and the cheque was made out to ‘Gordon Comstock’!
He could feel the square shape of the envelope outlined against his body as clearly as though it had been red hot. All the mornin...g he had felt it there, whether he touched it or whether he did not; he seemed to have developed a special patch of sensitiveness in the skin below his right breast. As often as once in ten minutes he had taken the cheque out of its envelope and anxiously examined it. After all, cheques are tricky things. It would be frightful if there turned out to be some hitch about the date or the signature. Besides, he might lose it–it might even vanish of its own accord like fairy gold.
The cheque had come from the Californian Review, that American magazine to which, weeks or months ago, he had despairingly sent a poem.MoreLess
He could feel the square shape of the envelope outlined against his body as clearly as though it had been red hot. All the mornin...g he had felt it there, whether he touched it or whether he did not; he seemed to have developed a special patch of sensitiveness in the skin below his right breast. As often as once in ten minutes he had taken the cheque out of its envelope and anxiously examined it. After all, cheques are tricky things. It would be frightful if there turned out to be some hitch about the date or the signature. Besides, he might lose it–it might even vanish of its own accord like fairy gold.
The cheque had come from the Californian Review, that American magazine to which, weeks or months ago, he had despairingly sent a poem.MoreLess
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