" Spurlock's glance shot up, flaming again. 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 read on and on, now thrilled by the swiftly moving drama, now enraptured by the tender passages of love. Jack in all probability, would have escaped, if Langley, who was left in the Lodge, had not been alarmed at the noise and rushed thither. Too bad he’s not interested in any girl who’s not a musician. All her pride raged at me.
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