Listen, it is I. "My coat!" he repeated, his glance burning into hers. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. Suddenly he stopped short. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. Her eyes were lit with a gleam of humour. Still keeping ahead of his pursuers, he ran along the direct road, till the houses disappeared and he got into the open country.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjIyNi45OC4xNjcgLSAxNC0wNy0yMDI0IDAzOjA0OjEwIC0gNDg0Nzg4NTQ5
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