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. Then she stepped back into the empty room and stood for a moment looking down upon the scattered fragments of her last canvas. She could tell that he was leering at her. . . I want to get away. Tell me.
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