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. In lieu of the substantial habitations which he had gazed on overnight, he beheld a row of falling scaffoldings, for such they seemed. "I have had Kanakas who could read and write in Dutch, and English, though. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. “Katy Pfister.
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