His tongue was more ready, his wit more keen than usual. Everything in his favour—the luck of the gods! The only white men were miles down the coast. 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. She was too delicate, too fragile to survive out there. It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. . She drank her glass of wine, however, and clanked glasses good-naturedly with Mr. Maggot: "I'm tired of you, and will go back to my old lover, Jack Sheppard. But I’m not a slut either, if that’s what you think.
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