The footsteps of the monitor on duty deprived me of the privilege of making an audible protest.

All I could do was to send Trimble's sponge quietly over to Langrish, and Langrish's book across to Trimble, and, as well as I was able, recover my abstracted sheet with the aid of the rod.

It took a long time, and laid me open to dire penalties for disturbing the public peace.

But it had to be done, and fortunately for me a row at the other end of the room called the monitor away in the nick of time.
When he returned, all was still, and I was dreaming that Mr Evans was selling a pair of second-hand six-buttoned lavender gloves to my mother in the hall of Mr Sharpe's house..