Two Thirteen

In spite of their sinister intentions in regard to him, in spite of
their attempts to harm him, he had not, so far, been able to take them
seriously or even to reconcile them and their behaviour with the
commonplaces of the twentieth century in which he lived.

But now, in the darkness, with the clock on the washstand shelf
ticking steadily, he began to take the matter very seriously. The gag
in his mouth hurt him cruelly; the bands of linen that held it in
began to stifle him so that his breath came in quick gasps through his
nostrils; sweat started at the roots of his hair; his heart leaped,
beat madly, stood still, and leaped again; and he threw himself
against the strips that held him and twisted and writhed with all his
strength.

Suddenly fear pierced him like a poignard; for a moment panic seized
him and chaos reigned in his bursting brain. He swayed and strained
convulsively; he strove to hurl all the inward and inert reserve of
strength against the bonds that held him.

After what seemed an age of terrible effort he found himself breathing
fast and heavily as though his lungs would burst through his
straining, dilating nostrils, seated exactly as he had been without a
band loosened, and the icy sweat pouring over his twitching face.

He heard himself trying to shout--heard the imprisoned groan shattered
in his own throat, dying there within him.

Suddenly a key rattled; the door was torn open; the light switched on.
Golden Beard stood there, his blue eyes glaring furious inquiry. He
gave one glance around the room, caught sight of the clock, recoiled,
shut off the light again, and slammed and locked the door.