"That's Chiriqui Prison, isn't it?" he asked.
"Yes. They say some of the dungeons are almost under the sea. It
must be a terrible place."
"I've developed a morbid interest in jails," he remarked. "I'm
quite an authority on them. I think, however, I won't experiment
with this one--I don't like the view."
"Yes, it's an unhealthy spot, according to all accounts. I'm sure
you'd get rheumatism, at least. By-the-way, do you notice the
thickness of those walls? They say that a king of Spain was seen
standing at his palace window one day staring anxiously toward the
west. When a courtier presumed to ask him what he was looking at,
he said, 'I am searching for those costly walls of Panama. They
ought to be visible even from here.' They cost ten million
dollars, you know, when dollars were worth a good deal more than
they are now. Look! There's Taboga."
Following her gaze, Kirk beheld a mountain of amethyst rising out
of the bay. Behind them the shores stretched away into misty
distances, while low mountains, softened by a delicate purple,
rolled up from the jungle plain. Ahead of them the turquoise
waters were dotted by islets whose heights were densely overgrown,
while sands of coral whiteness ringed their shore lines.
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