Winston writes about the prostitute

Winston writes in his diary about a dark evening three years ago when he went with a prostitute in a narrow side-street near a railway station. He remembers the thick paint on her face, the mask-like whiteness and the bright red lips. He had an almost overwhelming temptation to shout filthy words, and he reflects that your worst enemy is your own nervous system. He writes that she threw herself down on the bed and pulled up her skirt, but when he turned up the lamp he saw that she was an old woman of fifty with no teeth. He went ahead and did it just the same. Writing it down does not ease his torment.