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'm tired of the life I'm leading. “Your coffee’s too good to refuse. “And let us have a talk about this—some other time. His client’s story is safe with him. You must say farewell to her, for I cannot.
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