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. If Jack Sheppard or his mother ever enter this house again, I leave it—that's all. This formality irked her: she wanted to play a little, romp.
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