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. “Poor little Miniver! What can she be but what she is?. You never can tell. Beck, it smells wonderful in here. The proposal is so far from being exorbitant, that it should be trebled if I had not a fellow-feeling in the cause. Sir John looked about him, and somehow the laugh died away. He returned, blue towel in hand.
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