Their friendship was at an end, it seemed to him. The evil time when he had lived on Ravelston had spoiled… — George Orwell

He had reached the age when the future ceases to be a rosy blur and becomes actual and menacing.

That is the devilish thing about poverty, the ever-recurrent thing - loneliness. Day after day with never an intelligent person to talk to; night after night back to your godless room, always alone. Perhaps it sounds rather fun if you are rich and sought-after; but how different it is when you do it from necessity!

In a country like England you can no more be cultured without money than you can join the Cavalry Club.