" "Poor soul!" ejaculated her son. 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. It reminded her of one of the old tales her mother Marina had told her about a sculptor named Farhat. The Storm VII. Wood strained his eyes to catch a glimpse of the flying skiff.
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