On and on went the horrible whispering voice, painting its hellish pictures, destroying her body— her eyes— her hair— giving her loveliness to hideous death with sure, unrelenting strokes. And, gripped in his iron arms, she had to listen. Her imagination flared to torturing life as all ability to struggle, to cry out, failed her.
"There are so many creatures of the sea that will come starved to rob you of this beauty you love. It would be a waste of time for your latest adorer to go on worshipping at your shrine. He shall see you day by day as you rot— and rot. I heard what he said. He shall live— and regret his living!"
Dick, watchful, not with anger, cold with terror, held in his place by baffling control, saw Wanda's profile as she passed before him— suffering— tortured.
Next time th
