She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. She could feel his eyes surreptiously scanning her backside. Very fascinating, though, trying to analyse the impulse. He never appears to so little advantage as when speaking of him.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTM5LjIzNi4xNTAgLSAwOC0wNy0yMDI0IDIxOjI3OjE4IC0gMTMxMjAzMjc3MA==
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