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About
Snippet
It
was
a
bright
cold
day
in
April,
and
the
clocks
were
striking
thirteen.
Winston
Smith,
his
chin
nuzzled
into
his
breast
in
an
effort
to
escape
the
vile
wind,
slipped
quickly
through
the
glass
doors
of
Victory
Mansions,
though
not
quickly
enough
to
prevent
a
swirl
of
gritty
dust
from
entering
along
with
him.
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