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 daughters, he had hoped, would be their mother’s care. One can't help being jealous, you know, even of an unworthy object. "Ah!" he exclaimed, in a tone of anguish. He was not, in truth, much of a ladies’ man. He was even a little jealous of Sebastian.
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