. It was an odd little encounter, that left vague and dubitable impressions in her mind. I’d do anything, Vee. You will stop at once. 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 and her father shook hands manfully.
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