Well, come back in half an hour. “It’s like Troy!” said a voice of rapture. I asked him—to take me away. 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 engulfed them in black, white, and gray. "It's the boy's death-warrant," observed Jonathan, with a sinister smile. \"Thank you.
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