A shudder rippled across his shoulders. 1. " "What has he done?" "What did he have to drink over here last night?" "Not even water. 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. I was in Lancashire, at our family seat, at the time you mention.
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