Anna sprang to her feet with a startled cry. 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. “Don’t befool me any more,” he answered, almost roughly. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. ’ ‘Alas. ’ Then all at once remembrance made her smile. We live under man-made institutions, and that is what they amount to.
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