" Ruth turned back toward the stairs. 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. She calls him a pig, and she says he ain’t Valade. “It’s my fault. " "Curse on, and welcome," jeered Wild.
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