“If you have anything worse in store,
madam,” I said, “be quick with it. We are not such desperate criminals
that we deserve to die by torture.”. . .
The maid, whose name was Psyche, carefully spread a blanket on the floor.
Sollicitavit inguina mea mille iam mortibus frigida. . . Ascyltos had buried his
head in his cloak. I suppose he had warning that it is dangerous to pry into other
people's secrets. . . .
The maid brought two straps out of her dress and tied our feet with one and our hands
with the other. . . .
The thread of our talk was broken. “Come,” said Ascyltos, “do not
I deserve a drink?” The maid was given away by my laughter at this. She
clapped her hands and said, “I put one by you, young man. Did you drink the
whole of the medicine yourself?”
“Did he really?” said Quartilla, “did Encolpius drink up the
whole of our loving-cup?” Her sides shook with delightful laughter. . . .
Even Giton had to laugh at last, I mean when the little girl took him by the neck
and showered countless kisses on his unresisting lips. . . .