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. At no loss to comprehend that Jack was the individual pointed out by these outcries, two of the nearest of the group made a dash at him. “It’s a matter of feeling with me. " "I will go, if you will consent to meet me at midnight near the old house in Wych Street," replied Jack. He removed his cockaded hat, putting it down between them as he sat at the other end, placing himself at an angle and, crossing his legs, leaned back at his ease, his eyes fixed on her face. ” “Well?” Anna remarked calmly. ” She sniffled. Giles's was lined with spectators. ‘You have something more to tell me?’ Jack grinned.
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