He whispered in her ear. If a cart were coming, or those labourers in the field had heard, escape was impossible. ‘Never. We'll lather him with mud, shave him with a rusty razor, and drench him with aqua pompaginis. And, though neither peace nor innocence can be restored to my bosom; though tears cannot blot out my offences, nor sorrow drown my shame; yet, knowing that my penitence is sincere, I do not despair that my transgressions may be forgiven. I told him I would bring him to the gallows, and I was as good as my word.
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