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. One’s got to be a better man than one’s father, or what is the good of successive generations? Life is rebellion, or nothing. The two girls put on shoes and started walking towards the north side of town.
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