She would doubtless have had a responsible post with the Spanish Inquisition.

Face set, absorbed in her evil work, she tickled the ribs crosswise and tickled between them, up and down, always with the artist's light touch.
Dexter's frame grew tense, his head came up.

Once more he looked like a horse.

He had been brave to face destruction, but he found himself unable to face being tickled to death.

If only they had chosen some other method for his execution he would have perished gamely, but this was exquisitely poignant--beyond endurance.