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. It was rigged up for the occasion as it has been many a time before. " "How so?" inquired Winifred. A lean young man in spectacles pursued her for some time, crying “Courage! Courage!” Somebody threw a dab of mud at her, and some of it got down her neck. "Won't you sit down?" "I beg your pardon! Come into the consultation office"; and the doctor led the way.
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