The place was gloomy, with its darkly panelled walls, but it was sparsely furnished. 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. “What makes you ask such a question, Vee?” she said. Lucy tried not to notice the starched smell, overpowering and powdery. "And, now I'll tell you what they do. “Look here, father,” she said, with a change in her voice, “suppose I won’t stand it?” He regarded her as though this was a new idea. ' But, gentlemen, though they talked so largely, and looked so fiercely, they did not do it; they did not hang the bailiffs; and where are they?" "Ay, where are they?" echoed the company with indignant derision.
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