The canons sing every day on the other side of this wall without ever suspecting what gay doings they have over their heads.
And the stained glass, uncle, look at it well.

At first so many colours blind one and the forms are indistinct; besides, the lead cuts the figures and it is difficult to make out anything, but I know them to my fingers' ends.

They are stories, things of their own times, that these glass-workers painted; the intrigues have been forgotten, and no one has disentangled them." He pointed to the windows of the second nave, through which the evening light was shining with a ruddy glow.
"Look up there," went on the Perrero.

"A gallant in a red cape and sword mounts by a rope ladder; at the window a nun is waiting for him.
It seems something like the Don Juan Tenorio that they represent at All Saints'.

Further on, you see those two in bed, and people knocking at the door.