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. There was a maiden aunt who lived in the North who might let her live there for a few weeks until she disappeared. She broke this promise when she told me that my mother was this Mary, and not Suzanne Valade at all.
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