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. "She is here," cried Jack, darting forward. Opening a pair of large black eyes, the child fixed them for an instant upon Wood, and then, alarmed by the light, uttered a low and melancholy cry, which, however, was speedily stilled by the caresses of his mother, towards whom he extended his tiny arms, as if imploring protection. ” “Very well,” the man answered. " "Loves!" echoed Winifred, slightly colouring. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. ” Her father interrupted.
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