Last Updated：2022/12/24
She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good! / She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood! / They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years, / Till, now, on the stroke of midnight, / Cold, on the stroke of midnight, / The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
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She
twisted
her
hands
behind
her;
but
all
the
knots
held
good!
/
She
writhed
her
hands
till
her
fingers
were
wet
with
sweat
or
blood!
/
They
stretched
and
strained
in
the
darkness,
and
the
hours
crawled
by
like
years,
/
Till,
now,
on
the
stroke
of
midnight,
/
Cold,
on
the
stroke
of
midnight,
/
The
tip
of
one
finger
touched
it!
The
trigger
at
least
was
hers!
