Chapter 31: Behind an Iron Grating

⁠​​​‌​​​​‌​​‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​​​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌‌‌‌‌​​⁠“Say,” remarked Dick in a stage whisper, “there’d be a big drop in the bee industry if all the world turned Protestant and bought no more great wax candles.”

We were standing inside the Moorish arch of the Puerta del Perdon, in the Court of Oranges. Beyond, where the stuffed crocodile swung in a light breeze, was the entrance to the cathedral, black as the mouth of a cave. The wind which rocked tha