’ ‘In any event,’ Gerald told her, with a grin, ‘I can’t marry this one. He was a Wiltshire Edmondshaw, a very old family. One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. She wet some absorbent cotton with alcohol and refreshed his face and neck. Sheppard. Her hair got loose, her hat came over one eye, and she had no arm free to replace it. 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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