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He invited us to stay for breakfast and visit the rubblework monastery behind his house, which for many years he has used as a tool shed.

The roughest and cheapest sort of rubblework, in masonry.

He reached the open space in front of the house and once more found there the same murmuring palms, the same rubblework benches with seats and backs of flowered tile that he knew so well.

Reaching the little square in front of the Hermitage, he rested from the ascent, stretching out full length on the crescent of rubblework that formed a bench near the sanctuary.