The militiaman at once thrust the old man between the shoulder blades, pushing him into the kitchen. . ‘I’m a soldier, missie. Ramage!” she cried, and struggled to her feet. Shortly afterwards,—it seemed an age to the anxious mother,—Mr. . 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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