"I do," he muttered.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE MASTER KNOT OF HUMAN FATE
The conversation dropped there: she gazed thoughtfully out upon the Teutonic magnificence of One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street by gaslight; he, arms folded, relapsed into bitter contemplation of the breakfast-food. So immersed he became in the picture of an unctuous little boy stuffing himself to repletion under the admiring smirk of a benevolent parent that he forgot his manacles, and attempting to stretch his cramped leg, returned to his senses in a hurry.
"I think," she suggested, quietly, "that, if you care to stretch, I wouldn't mind it, either. Can you do it discreetly?"