Hearing that Mr. Phileas Fogg was looking for a servant, and that his life was one of unbroken regularity, that he neither traveled nor stayed from home overnight, he felt sure that this would be the place he was after. He presented himself, and was accepted, as has been seen.At half-past eleven, then, Passepartout found himself alone in the house in Saville Row. He had begun its inspection without delay, scouring it from cellar to garret. So clean, well-arranged, solemn a mansion pleased him; it seemed to him like a snail's shell, lighted and warmed by gas, which sufficed for both these purposes. When Passepartout reached the second story he recognized at once the room which he was to inhabit, and he was well satisfied with it. Electric bells and speaking-tubes afforded communication with the lower stories; while on the mantel stood an electric clock, precisely like that in Mr. Fogg's bedchamber, both beating the same second at the same instant. "That's good, that'll do," said. ‘We’re back, hope you guys are decent,’ Danny yelled laughing as we approached the door. As we came through the door I kept telling myself to act natural hoping she hadn’t caught a glimpse of us as we ducked away from the window. They were now sitting in the chair together, her top on, and her shorts done up looking like they just woke up. ‘So how was your walk?’ asked Steve sarcastically. ‘Just great,’ answered Danny smiling from ear to ear as Erika giggled thinking she got the joke. Seeing her response I knew she had no idea that we had just watched her suck off Steve. Unconsciously my eyes drifted to the creamy wet spot on the floor. When I looked up at her again she smirked sheepishly, having followed my eyes, realizing that I knew they had been fooling around. Later she told me about it leaving out some of the better parts. I felt incredibly guilty having spied on her like that. Our friendship meant the world to me. There was no way I could ever tell her that Danny and I had.
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