Just as he was about to drain it, he encountered the basilisk glance of Jonathan Wild, and paused. The picture of Mary Remenham was still on the wall. 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 watched her friend rise and go towards her affianced husband, a look of mischief in her face. It was as though he were personally aggrieved. “There,” he said, “you don’t treat me fairly, Miss Stanley. Seeing Jack at liberty, he instantly seized him, and a struggle commenced. She had dreaded the beginning of this hour.
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