"Barbara!" he cried and never noticed that he called her by her
Christian name.
Barbara Mackwayte sat in the big black armchair, facing the
black-curtained window. Her face was pale and drawn, and there
were black circles under her eyes. There was a listless yet
highly-strung look about her that you see in people who
habitually take drugs.
She heeded not the sound of his voice. It was as though he had
not spoken. She only continued to moan and mutter, moving her
body about uneasily as a child does when its sleep is disturbed
by nightmares. Then, to his inexpressible horror, Desmond saw
that her feet were bound with straps to the legs of the chair.
Her arms were similarly tethered to the arms of the chair, but
her hands had been left free.
"Barbara!" said Desmond softly, you know me! I'm Desmond Okewood!
I've come to take you home!"
The word "home" seemed to catch the girl's attention; for now she
turned her head and looked at the young man. The expression in
her eyes, wide and staring, was horrible; for it was the look of
a tortured animal.
Desmond was bending to unbind the straps that fastened Barbara's
arms when he heard a step outside the door. The curtains in front
of the window were just beside him. They were long and reached to
the floor.
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