"Don't scourge me," she cried, trying to hide herself in the farthest corner of the cell. He watched her constantly, trapped her in corners and slept with his arms locking her like a human cage. It had thrust her back with an undignified scuffle, with vulgar comedy, with an unendurable, scornful grin. He gently took the roses from her and laid them on the pillow. Perhaps you'll call that charity: I call it defeating the ends of justice. At last, he got into a lane, but had not proceeded far when he was again alarmed by the sound of a horse's tread.
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