Casting a hasty glance at the old and ruinous prison belonging to the liberty of the Bishop of Winchester (whose palace formerly adjoined the river), called the Clink, which gave its name to the street, along which he walked: and noticing, with some uneasiness, the melancholy manner in which the wind whistled through its barred casements, the carpenter followed his companion down an opening to the right, and presently arrived at the water-side. The commissionaire stood there, tall and imperturbable. ‘Danged if I ever hear the like! A Frenchie is what you are, and there ain’t no granddaughter Charvill no more. She whipped round suddenly, and discovered the woman wedged into the corner by the window, keeping out of the way. ‘Is he meeting you here then, my dear?’ ‘He had better,’ said Lucilla. He made her tell him the core of the difficulty.
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