Later from the same story, there's this bit involving a red robe, a white robe, two brown robes, a loin-clothed man and a quartering rack.
They tell him to repent.
He says, "Up yours, you phony hypocrites."
They say he must renounce Satan.
He says, "There ain't no Satan. He's something you made up trying to scare people so you can manipulate 'em."
They order one more click on the cranks. Tell him to beg God's forgiveness.
He says, "God is with me now. My God. That's why I feel no pain. He's my God. Inside me. I made Him for me because that's what He is. For me and me alone. You have your God. I have mine. I don't force you to accept mine, because He's not for you. He's for me. How come you can't go off and live with your God without forcing Him onto everybody else? What makes you think your God is the only God in existence? What makes you so high and mighty with all the answers? Where do you get off..."
A lever built onto the table's side, pushed down by red, effectively, temporarily, stifles the prisoner's sermon. It connects to a square cut out on the table's surface. Square encompasses the space from victim's shoulder blades to his butt cheeks, and when lever is pushed, square rises ten inches above table's surface, taking the already-stretched victim with it.
Hughes gasps, and then groans, and then grits his teeth and deals with it. His chest, abdomen and crotch are elevated, chest highest of all, belly dropping from his ribs stretched tight and hard as a board. His head dangles back, suspended in air. His sockets of arm pits and thighs ache, as white robe orders a new wrinkle to the torture. "Thrash him!"