. It's mighty lonesome down there for a man bred to cities. I don't ask you to supply my place—for that is, perhaps, impossible. “You must come and see me some afternoon,” she said 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. Secretly she was gratified to be assigned to the rôle of an old traveller. He changed his mind however, and simply motioned to her to proceed. And listen, John.
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