It was a sort of cooking-room, with an immense fire-place flanked by a couple of cauldrons, and was called Jack Ketch's Kitchen, because the quarters of persons executed for treason were there boiled by the hangman in oil, pitch, and tar, before they were affixed on the city gates, or on London Bridge. ” He bit, feeling the numb desire to maul her. Wood, I forget nothing. Upon the steps leading to the gates of the church stood two persons whom Jack instantly recognised. You shall not take me alive.
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