"Then you don't understand," she said.

"You--you--can't understand that--that--I was--his--his--" Her voice failed.

She caught his hand in both her own, pressing it hard over her face, writhing in mute shame before him.
"Yes, I do understand," Merryon said, and his voice was very quiet, full of a latent force that thrilled her magnetically.

"I understand that when you were still a child this brute took possession of you, broke you to his will, did as he pleased with you.

I understand that you were as helpless as a rabbit in the grip of a weasel.