His little red eyes glistened with moisture.
His big lips had a violet tint.

They remained closed.

With the dirty back of his whip-hand he rubbed the stubble sprouting on his enormous chin.
"You mustn't," stammered out Stevie violently.

"It hurts." "Mustn't whip," queried the other in a thoughtful whisper, and immediately whipped.

He did this, not because his soul was cruel and his heart evil, but because he had to earn his fare.