"The prison was behind them and he imagined themselves jogging into enormous focus for the inquisitive binoculars up there on the watchtower; 'Guapa', one policeman would say. 'Ah, muy hermosa,' another might call, delighted with Yvonne and smacking his lips. The world was always within the binoculars of the police. Meantime the foals, which perhaps were not fully aware that a road was a means of getting somewhere and not, like a field, something to roll on or eat, kept straying into the undergrowth on either hand."
Under the Volcano, M. Lowry
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