For the first time in her life she had heard music; the door to enchanted sounds had been flung wide. She must kill this man, or kill herself. Her sister’s words were true. Mr. “I’ll run, too,” she volunteered. 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. You’ll end there one day, mark my words.
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