At this time of day the priest would be at his apartments in Brewer Street, a short walk away from Golden Square which the building overlooked. “Don’t be an ass, Ferringhall,” he said tersely. Regardless of the risk he incurred from some heavy stone dropping on his head or feet,—regardless also of the noise made by the falling rubbish, and of the imminent danger which he consequently ran of being interrupted by some of the jailers, should the sound reach their ears, he continued to pull down large masses of the wall, which he flung upon the floor of the cell.
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