Servants were passing backwards and forwards with tea and chocolate. Perhaps the boys had already faced off and he had missed it, he thought sourly. Listening at one of the doors leading to the Master Debtors' side, he heard a loud voice chanting a Bacchanalian melody, and the boisterous laughter that accompanied the song, convinced him that no suspicion was entertained in this quarter. And I am grateful to you. This getting up at dawn—real dawn—and working until seven was a distinct novelty. “Indeed, no,” he answered.
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