"Would you raise your hand to me?
Am I your lord, or am I dirt of your own kind?
Go learn submission." And I flung him almost headlong down the flight of steps.
There were twelve of them and all of stone with edges still sharp enough though blunted here and there by time.

The fool had never suspected in me the awful strength which until that hour I had never suspected in myself.

Else, perhaps, there had been fewer insolent shrugs, fewer foolish answers, and, last of all, no attempt to defy me physically.
He screamed as I flung him; my mother screamed; and Giojoso screamed.
After that there was a panic-stricken silence whilst he went thudding and bumping to the bottom of the flight.

I did not greatly care if I killed him.

But he was fortunate enough to get no worse hurt than a broken leg, which should keep him out of mischief for a season and teach him respect for me for all time.
His father scuttled down the steps to the assistance of that precious son, who lay moaning where he had fallen, the angle at which the half of one of his legs stood to the rest of it, plainly announcing the nature of his punishment.
My mother swept me indoors, loading me with reproaches as we went.