“Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a stained-glass window. She began rubbing it with her pocket-handkerchief. He rested his brow on his hand and conveyed magnificent tragedy by his pose. ‘Jacques, you have been very much my friend. 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.
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