He was hit with, and fought vainly to absorb, another fresh wave of torture on the contact, and lurched back against the dresser, swearing angrily under his breath through gritted teeth. He turned his knuckles white, such was his death grip on the dresser's washbasin, as he tried to offset the excruciating torment that was his treatment. But soon, though not quite soon enough, his face became deadened and dull, the pain receded to a background ache, and he sucked in a rattling breath as his racing heartrate began to ease down to normal again.