'St Martin's-in-the-Fields it used to be called,' supp lemented the old man, 'though I don't recollect any fields anywhere in those parts.'
Winston did not buy the picture. It would have been an even more incongruous possession than the glass paperweight, and impossible to carry home, unless it were taken out of its frame. But he lingered for some minutes more, talking to the old man, whose name, he discovered, was not Weeks -- as one might have gathered from the inscription over the shop-front -- but Charrington. Mr Charrington, it seemed, was a widower aged sixty-three and had inhabited this shop for thirty years. Throughout that time he had been intending to alter the name over the window, but had never quite got to the point of doing it. All the while that they were talking the half-r
