"My portrait!" echoed Jack. "I am innocent. “I had a visit from Sir John in my rooms,” she said. 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. " "Better she die by her own hand, than by that monster's," cried Jack, brandishing the bar. To hand the key back in silence was like offering a lie.
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