““Don't kill me,' said the knight. 'I yield. I yield. You can't kill a man at mercy.' Lancelot put up his sword and went back from the knight, as if he were going back from his own soul. He felt in his heart cruelty and cowardice, the things which made him brave and kind. 'Get up,' he said. 'I won't hurt you. Get up, go.' The knight looked at him, on all fours like a dog, and stood up, crouching uncertainly. Lancelot went away and was sick.””
