It bent itself strangely like a doll, and in falling, knocking its head against the stone floor it did not give the impression of a hard substance striking against a hard substance, but of something soft and devoid of feeling.

And when one looked long, it became like some strange, endless game--and sometimes it became almost a complete illusion.
After one hard kick, the man or effigy fell slowly on its knees before a sitting soldier, he in turn flung it away, and turning over, it dropped down before the next, and so on and on.

A loud guffaw arose, and Judas smiled too,--as though the strong hand of some one with iron fingers had torn his mouth asunder.

It was the mouth of Judas that was deceived.
Night dragged on, and the fires were still smouldering.

Judas threw himself from the wall, and crawled to one of the fires, poked up the ashes, rekindled it, and although he no longer felt the cold, he stretched his slightly trembling hands over the flames, and began to mutter dolefully: "Ah! how painful, my Son, my Son! How painful!" Then he went again to the window, which was gleaming yellow with a dull light between the thick grating, and once more began to watch them scourging Jesus.