In his sixth year of office Master Blanchminster had sent for masons to block this window up.
The act of espial had always been hateful to him: he preferred to trust his brethren, and it cost far less trouble.

For close upon thirty years he had avoided their dinner-hour on all but Gaudy Days.
He had been warming a serpent, and it had bitten him.

The wound stung, too.

Angry he was at Warboise's disloyalty; angrier at the manner of it.

If these old men had a grievance, or believed they had, at least they might have trusted him first with it.