It is a sort of attenuated variety of Ixion's punishment, and contributes a dismal chapter to the history of gaols.

The brain gets muddled, the head grows heavy, and the body's centre of gravity seems to settle by degrees in a leaden lump somewhere between the eyebrows and the crown.

Bathsheba felt the unpleasant symptoms after two or three dozen turns.
"Will you turn, Gabriel, and let me hold the shears ?" she said.

"My head is in a whirl, and I can't talk." Gabriel turned.

Bathsheba then began, with some awkwardness, allowing her thoughts to stray occasionally from her story to attend to the shears, which required a little nicety in sharpening.
"I wanted to ask you if the men made any observations on my going behind the sedge with Mr.Boldwood yesterday ?" "Yes, they did," said Gabriel.