Laure screamed and dug her elbow hard into his torso. He released his grip and bent over which gave her an opening to whip around the other side of the table. His trousers sagged around his knees, revealing his engorged penis.

Again she screamed, which succeeded in enraging him. Grabbing his trousers, he charged at Laure.

She was slammed against the wall, her head hitting it with a crack. He pinioned her with a leg between hers and wrenched open her jeans and hauled them and her knickers down to her knees.

His fingers scrabbled between her legs, jabbing and poking. She felt his finger forcing its way up and the pull and tear of her resisting flesh.

She gasped, seized his hair and yanked as hard as she could. In response, he pushed her legs wider and threw her to the floor. Straddling her, he dragged her jeans and knickers off and slammed his body between her legs.

It would only take a couple more seconds and he would get what he wanted. His penis was rammed against her thigh. A hand grasped her chin and forced her head painfully to one side. He got ready by raising himself onto his elbows – and thrust into her.

The pain. The disgust. The terror.

She heard herself moan aloud.

With a superhuman effort, she threw herself onto her side, pulled at the telephone cord hanging down from the table and brought the telephone crashing down.

It landed a blow on his shoulder. For a second he was stilled – and she thought she might have a won a reprieve. Then he roared out something incomprehensible but the import was plain enough. Grabbing the telephone, he brought it down hard on her head.

A shower of neon-yellow sparks fountained across her vision. A crack sounded in her ears, it was followed by a floating sensation and, somewhere far away, pain. In the background, she heard Petr issue the command. ‘Stop.’

Laure rolled over onto her stomach, jarring every bone in her body. Sighed. Then, everything was black.

In his room in the Můstek house, Tomas was cradling her softly and tenderly. They were lying on the mattress and Kočka was perched on the ledge where the sun came through the window.

‘And?’ he said.

The side of her head was badly bruised, and her body ached from head to foot,

It was still an effort to talk. ‘Petr Kobes arrived as the guard hit me and got me out. He stopped …’ she struggled not to cry. ‘Stopped him. Finishing… He never…’ she looked at him. ‘You know.’

Petr insisted that she was examined by a doctor who had pronounced her injured but not seriously. ‘I am so sorry. I am so sorry,’ he repeated more than once, every line of his body conveying his extreme shame and distress.