Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. " The Wastrel advanced. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. Regardless of the risk he incurred from some heavy stone dropping on his head or feet,—regardless also of the noise made by the falling rubbish, and of the imminent danger which he consequently ran of being interrupted by some of the jailers, should the sound reach their ears, he continued to pull down large masses of the wall, which he flung upon the floor of the cell. Behind the illustrious personages just described marched a troop of stalwart fellows, with white badges in their hats, quarterstaves, oaken cudgels, and links in their hands.
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