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. The winter of 1348 seemed to last an eternity, but the Pestilence struck in one day. Quite trying of him not to be there when he is wanted. Just this? Parbleu, did he think this was enough? She did not wish to marry him—at least, not just because he was an Englishman. His smile faded. McClintock stared into the bowl of his pipe and Spurlock into his coffee cup. "There, he's as safe as Jack Sheppard in the Condemned Hould," laughed the man. "Well, well; look who's here!" cried Spurlock.
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