I remember I was very devout that morning." He went on to talk of Wolsey and of his relations with him, and Ralph watched that heavy smooth face become reminiscent and almost sentimental.
"If he had but been wiser;" he said.

"I have noticed again and again the folly of wise men.

There is always clay mixed with gold.

I suppose nothing but the fire that Fryth denied can purge it out; and my lord's was ambition." He wagged his head in solemn reprobation, and Ralph did not know whether to laugh or to look grave.

Then there fell a long silence, and Cromwell again fell to fingering his signet-ring, taking it off his thumb and rolling it on the smooth oak, and at last stood up with a brisker air.
"Welt," he said, "I have a thousand affairs, and my son Gregory is coming here soon.