He looked at me a long time. “Two years in the provincial penitentiary for burglary; six months for jail breaking. Sentences concurrent⁠—and thirty lashes.”

The prison sentence was no surprise to me. I expected a heavier one. I had long before admitted to myself its possibility, even its probability. But I had accepted that as a businessman accepts a chance of bankruptcy, or as a laborer foresees an injury. The court’s order that I be lashed was a surprise and caused me no small concern. I couldn’t get it off my mind. I wondered if I could stand it; day and night I could feel the lash on my bare back. After turning it over in my mind I decided to make the best of it, and found some consolation in the thought that if the judge hadn’t ordered the flogging he would have sentenced me to five or ten years.