“I don’t think I CAN do that,” she said. Spurling was no longer allowed to visit him; he was again loaded with irons; fastened by an enormous horse-padlock to a staple in the floor; and only allowed to take repose in a chair. “What a fool I am!” he muttered, standing up on the hearthrug, and leaning his elbows upon the broad mantelpiece. Lucy could feel blood welling underneath a bump half swelling and already half-healing on her scalp. You might tell the truth to some men, but never to him. "I'll cut down him who opposes me.
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