 You, Lord, wrenched me round to face myself, taking me from behind my back, because I had stationed myself so that I would not have to do that. You set me in my own sight so I could see how base I was, hunchbacked and filthy, spotted and covered with festering sores. I saw it, and I shrieked back in horror, and I had nowhere to fly, and if I tried to turn aside, he kept on telling me his tale, and again you set me in my sight, he shoved me forward so that I would discover my iniquity and hate it. I had noticed it, but I pretended not to. I held back and put it out of mind.