But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered. On reflection, it occurred to him that he might, perhaps, be able to loosen the iron fillet; a notion no sooner conceived than executed. A disconcerting gray eye that had a mystifying depth. Lucy grabbed his shirtsleeve, whispering on tiptoe. She refused to eat. She had never seen so much food in her life as she saw at her own wedding feast. She would be elemental; there would be in her somewhere the sleeping tigress. She held out her arm straight before her, and turned her hand this way and that.
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