But he had a disinclination to lie to Beatrice; and he felt simply unable to lose her friendship by telling her the truth.
As he sat there perfectly still, the servant peeped in once softly to see if the answer was ready, and noiselessly withdrew.

Ralph did not stir; but still sat on, pressing his eyeballs till they ached and fiery rings twisted before him in the darkness.

Then he abruptly sat up, blinked a moment or two, took up a pen, bit it again, and laid it down and sat eyeing the two papers that lay side by side on his desk.
He took up his own list, and read it through.

After all, it was very insignificant, and contained no more than minute scraps of conversation that Sir Thomas More had let drop.

He had called Queen Katharine "poor woman" three or four times; had expressed a reverence for the Pope of Rome half a dozen times, and had once called him the Vicar of Christ.