‘Half that water’s boiled away,’ she said. ‘I’ll get up and make some coffee in another moment. We’ve got an hour. What time do they cut the lights off at your flats?’‘Twenty-three thirty.’ ‘It’s twenty-three at the hostel. But you have to get in earlier than that, because—Hi! Get out, you filthy brute!’
She suddenly twisted herself over in the bed, seized a shoe from the floor, and sent it hurtling into the corner with a boyish jerk of her arm, exactly as he had seen her fling the dictionary at Goldstein, that morning during the Two Minutes Hate.