“I think we’ve exhausted this discussion,” she said. "You don't eat," continued Kneebone, addressing Jack, who had remained for some time thoughtful, and pre-occupied with his head upon his hand. I am your servitor. Nothing could exceed the dismay of these personages when they learnt why they had been summoned. It was enough that she witnessed it and could not go to him. 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.
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