"I will!"
"I am stronger than thou. Say no!"
For answer Philip's body rolled slackly from his father's knees.
"No, my son, no! It is not yet finished. Wilt thou say no? One word, no!"
The strap whistled through the air. Remotely, brokenly, Philip's voice came from far off.
"No!"
"That is as I thought! Thou wilt bless me some time with tears in thine eyes for what has been done to-night. Thy mother can give thee supper if she will, I do not forbid."
But the crushed figure of Philip had writhed from the room. Soon he was lying on his bed, limp, not daring to stir because each movement stabbed him acutely. He buried his face in the pillow. He could not think. He could not remember. He knew only that he was a mass of intolerable pain. Yet he knew that something hurt him even more than his pain. He had forsworn himself. He had lost something. All life was a fight, was a movement forward, away from the darkness into the places of light. He had forsworn himself. He had fallen back into Babylon. The dark was closing round him and the pitchy waters were gurgling in his throat.
There was a whisper beside him.
"Philip, Philip, it's Channah!"