” “I do not know who he is,” Brendon said quietly, “but he will not forget. I ought to have gone long ago. 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. It shall be the bludgeon. She had to school herself to speak the words which she knew would cut him like a knife. For now, I fear there is something worse, something more present.
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