I've kept that one.

And now it's your turn.

I thought at first I'd kill you.

But I fancy this will hurt you more." His hand shot suddenly out from behind him, and there followed the whistle of a thong--the thick, leathern thong with which he kept his dogs in order.
It struck her as she stood before him, struck and curled about her shoulders with a searching, scalding agony that turned her sick, wringing from her a cry that would never have been uttered had she been prepared.
But before he could strike again she was ready to cope with his madness.
On the instant she sprang, not from him, but to him, clasping his arms with both of hers.
"Giles!" she said, and her voice rang clear and commanding.

"You are not yourself.