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29 After lying on the floor for almost an hour, her joints stiffening, Marilyn began to doubt that anyone would find her before dawn. She listened as a strong gust of wind stirred the leafless branches of the old fig tree beside the house, limbs scraping on the corrugated iron roofing. By now she would have thought that Mr Phelps would have heard her if he was home; after all, he lived not five paces from her front door. The kitchen window was open and her voice should have carried well. But she thought that anyone walking by in the nearby vicinity would have heard her. Her throat was raw and ragged and any further attempts ended in a dry, crippling fit of coughing. To go along with this and the throbbing agony in her pelvis, a headache was brewing. She closed her eyes and tried desperat
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