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. Gianfrancesco was not ugly, in fact, perhaps he was rather handsome after all. ‘One would take it that the house had been ransacked. “I’m ready,” said Ann Veronica, closing her microscope-box with a click, and looking for one brief instant up the laboratory. ‘There’s no controlling you, is there?’ He held up his hands.
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