It was dangerous for her to dare approaching him and she knew the tremendous risk she was taking, but a part of her demanded that he be found. 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. As the time when his identity had to be proved approached, this rigour was, in a trifling degree, relaxed, and a few persons were occasionally admitted to the ward, but only in the presence of Austin. “Of course I’m manager for this expedition,” he said, after an interval of self-examination. His baggy shorts sagged over knobby knees that tapered into decrepit Reebok sneakers. Too close, he reasoned, for safety. One day it was gone. Now, as she stared at the image of her own face, she recalled something Major Alderley had said.
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