1984 - Pg 241

   Something changed in the music that trickled from the telescreen. A cracked and jeering note, a yellow note, came into it. And then--perhaps it was not happening, perhaps it was only a memory taking on the semblance of sound--a voice was singing:
           "Under the spreading chestnut tree
            I sold you and you sold me--"
   The tears welled up in his eyes. A passing waiter noticed that his glass was empty and came back with the gin bottle.
   He took up his glass and sniffed at it. The stuff grew not less but more horrible with every mouthful he drank. But it had become the element he swam in. It was his life, his death, and his resurrection.