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. “But I am at singing-pitch. A white man takes his life in his hands. Show him no quarter, Poll. “I am lonely. ‘You could have fetched me home. ‘Burned them, one by one, right before that fellow’s eyes.
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