"Can you pull him through?" was the anxious question. 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. Michelle looked at their reflections in the wall mirror. None at all. It is no fault of your own that you are not at this moment standing there with your head blown off.
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