The area was sparsely populated. " At this moment, Saint Sepulchre's clock struck six. “You know what? You’re right. A deadlock. The crown has passed from the brow of one monarch to that of another. "What?… Oh!… Well, good Lord!" He wrenched loose his head and stood up, sending the chair clattering to the floor. 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 fragrance of dryer sheets lay upon her like the snow that now drifted peacefully outside.
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