"I daren't," she wailed. "But maybe I can loosen it a little."
Careless of her fine dress, she dropped to her knees on the dusty floor beside him. What she had in her hand she put down. It sounded like a plate. Greg rolled over, and with her soft warm hands she fumbled with the knots at his wrists, not with much success. Her hands trembled a little as if in confusion at being forced to touch a strange man. Greg was thinking principally of the plate.
"What was that you brought?" he asked.
"You are hungry?"
"Famished. I suppose it's ten hours since I ate."
"There was nothing cooked in this house, but I brought biscuits and chocolate. Are your hands more comfortable now?"
"Not much. How can I eat with my hands tied?"
"I will feed you," she said with a charming confusion in her voice.
She proceeded to do so, feeling for his lips with her fingers and pressing chocolate and sweet biscuits between them. In good sooth the situation was romantic enough, the warm breathing woman bending over him in the dark, fragrant as a flower; there was something infinitely caressing in the touch of her fingers, nevertheless Greg remained cold. He could think of nothing but how to get out.
"You are not like a common taxi-driver," she said presently.