“I’ve got bad faults. ‘Peste,’ she wailed, as Emile dropped to the floor, ducking down. 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. It seems to me exactly what is wanted.
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