" "Aliva Trenchard!" exclaimed Mrs. 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. "It's all over," groaned Wood, "and perhaps it's as well her senses are gone. Kneebone, are these your French noblemen?" "Don't upbraid me!" rejoined the woollen-draper. " "Piano-player? Do you mean someone who plays for you?" "No, no; one of those mechanical things you play with your feet. ‘You’re the most troublesome wretch I’ve ever encountered,’ he told her bitterly. But his daughter might well have a claim.
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