Again she dipped the spoon, looking at him with defiant eyes, and with the same deliberation she let the stuff fall on the living flesh.
This time the perspiration sprang out on her brow, her face burned suddenly hot, her whole frame shrank under the torture.
"Don't!" he cried hoarsely.

"I will not bear it! Don't!" And he uttered a cry half-articulate, like a beast's.
"Stand there!" she said.

And still he stood: stood, his hands clenched and his lips drawn back from his teeth, while she dipped the spoon again, and--though her arm shook now like an aspen and there were tears of pain in her eyes--let the dreadful stuff fall a third time.
She was white when she turned to him.

"If you do it again," he cried furiously, "I will upset--the cursed pot." "I have done," she said, smiling faintly.

"I am not very brave--after all!" And going to the dresser, her knees trembling under her, she poured out some water and drank it greedily.