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. ” Annabel had been lying curled up on the lounge, the personification of graceful animal ease. The whole of that relationship persisted in remaining obscure. Wood fancied he heard the exulting laugh of Jonathan Wild.
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