’ *** In the cosy little parlour that Pottiswick rarely used, Melusine paced restlessly to and fro. Michelle seemed so innocent and sweet. 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. She pulled a few strands of her hair from her head to leave with Michelle’s. It is no good going into that. It was a moment of breathless interest to all engaged in the attempt.
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