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. “Shit happens, John. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica. Why should WE hoard? We aren’t going out presently, like Japanese lanterns in a gale. Then she passed from the room on the arm of General Lord Charvill, chatting animatedly to him.
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