As she approached the corner of the Avenue the blond, no-hatted man in gray flannels appeared. Her cheeks were aflame. She loved to be there, taking part in it all, breathing it, being it. She twisted her fingers tightly. He was now as civil as he had just been insolent. Spurlock's vision was oddly of the past. They bounced without merriment over bumpy Roman roads, and by the time they arrived she was extremely nauseous. He used to call it his fire-escape—ha! ha! I've often used the ladder for my own convenience, but I never expected to turn it to such good account.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjIyMi4xMTkuMTkgLSAxOC0wNy0yMDI0IDA2OjAwOjM1IC0gMjMyMDAwMDc4
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