In this way he crossed one or two public gardens and a bowling-green,—the neighbourhood of Clerkenwell then abounded in such places of amusement,—passed the noted Ducking Pond, where Black Mary had been frequently immersed; and, striking off to the left across the fields, arrived in a few minutes at his destination. “To your room!” Michelle cowered, her face flushed with anger. The elements were wrathful as their passions. "There, he's as safe as Jack Sheppard in the Condemned Hould," laughed the man. She was always initiating petty breaches of discipline. Very dark, like yours, ma’am.
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