With a growl and a leap he was upon me.

Again he lifted me in the air and crashed me down into the chair.
"No nonsense, Standing," he warned.

"Make a clean breast of it.

Where is the dynamite ?" "I don't know anything of any dynamite," I protested.
Once again I was lifted and smashed back into the chair.
I have endured tortures of various sorts, but when I reflect upon them in the quietness of these my last days, I am confident that no other torture was quite the equal of that chair torture.

By my body that stout chair was battered out of any semblance of a chair.