Chapter ThirteenIt was many hours before she woke. She opened her eyes, and on the instant a sense of strangeness came upon her like a breaking wave. A moment before she had been in some friendly place of dreams; then, in a flash, this strange place, dark, but not quite dark, a kind of pink dusk, in fact.
Sally rubbed her eyes, sat up, and shook back her hair. She was remembering. The quick procession of yesterday’s events rushed through her mind, and in a trice she was out of bed and at the window. It was closely shuttered, and the shutters were locked. Pull as she would, she could not open them. A c***k of light showed at the shutters’ edge, and Sally discovered that the darkness had been pink because what she mentally termed “another of those blessed rose-coloured curtains” hung before
