Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. They don’t know who did it, actually. Ireton, was appointed to the office, stood with a hammer in one hand, and a punch in the other, near the great stone block, ready to fulfil his duty. "Let us in," said the Master, rapping his truncheon authoritatively against the boards, "or we'll force an entrance.
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