The moderate stroke brings a gurgled cry of agony from Igor and a spastic lurch. I believe he pleads but with a piece of metal clamped to his tongue the words are indistinguishable.
“Oh, Igor is singing for me. Isn’t that nice of you, Igor.”
The cage swings about as a result of Igor’s wrenching reaction of intense anguish and Ms. Blakely’s casual swing of her arm. Another stroke brings more agonized blusters and a wicked grin from Warden Blakely.
“Yes, Igor, you sing for me so nicely. And you don’t spit any more, do you?”
I gravely note the punishment for something as simple and relatively harmless as spitting.
There comes another swing of the arm. I cringe. Igor howls, if the garbled sound can so be described.
“Hood him, Bobbie. That’s enough light for today.”
Ward Blakely gestures
