She stuffed her violin in its case and rushed into the hallway towards John, who stood outside of 118 with his arms crossed. With this view, he suffered him to pass on. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. Then he turned round and gazed thoughtfully at the particular spot in the fog where Courtlaw had disappeared. He wants you—or he doesn’t; and then he helps some other woman against you.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQwLjE5Ni4zOSAtIDE4LTA2LTIwMjQgMjE6Mzc6MzggLSA0NzMwOTY2OTE=
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