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. The colouring was green and white, with softly shaded
electric lights, an alcove bedstead, which was a miracle of daintiness, white
furniture, and a long low dressing-table littered all over with a multitude of
daintily fashioned toilet appliances. Life’s hard enough nowadays for an
unprotected male. None saw, though all felt, his presence, and heard the thunder of his
voice. ’ Disappointment
flooded her. His
stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed
they were not entirely true. He's an interpretative genius, if
there ever was one.
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This video was uploaded to flood-rescue.com on 08-07-2024 03:18:39