I must bless him before I die. 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. “Michelle, it’s me, Lucy. I ought to have gone long ago. “It is too late for visitors,” she remarked.
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