He was bound down here, crushed and stifled in this apostate city whose sounds and cries came up into his cell.

He had lost the fiery vision of the conqueror's welcome; it was like a tale heard long ago.

Now he was beaten down by physical facts, by the gross details of the tragedy, the strangling, the blood, the smoke, the acrid smell of the crowd, and heaven was darkened by the vapour.
It was not until the next day, as he sat with the Prior and a stranger or two, and heard the tale once more, and the predictions about More and Fisher, that the significance of Ralph's position appeared to him clearly.

He knew no more than before, but he suddenly understood what he knew.
A monk had said a word of Cromwell's share in the matters, and the Prior had glanced moodily at Chris for a moment, turning his eyes only as he sat with his chin in his hand; and in a moment Chris understood.
This was the work that his brother was doing.

He sat now more distracted than ever: mental pictures moved before him of strange council-rooms with great men in silk on raised seats, and Ralph was among them.