He had plunged low in the man's hearing; the air of his lungs was thick, hard to breathe, for shame of a degradation so extreme.
Chillon imagined him to be sighing.

He had to listen further.

'Soul' had been an uttered word.

When the dishonouring and mishandling brute of a young nobleman stuttered a compliment to Carinthia on her 'faith in God's assistance and the efficacy of prayer,' he jumped to his legs, not to be shouting 'Hound!' at him.

He said, under control: 'God's name shall be left to the Church.