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. Entranced, he stared at the name. Michelle pulled a Kleenex out of a Pocket Pack and blew her nose. You know what's what. She then dried her eyes, and laying her child gently upon the floor, knelt down beside him.
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