He finally notices that his shirt's halfway off and feebly attempts to recover it from Svava. His voice is reduced to a whisper, pleading, heavy with shame.

"No..."

As her half turns, his back is seen to be cris-crossed with lash marks. Some are thin white lines, very old and well healed. Others are newer, deeper, still shiny and pink though still old themselves. He's almost forgotten about those.