” He said jealously. ‘So yours is the rattling tongue, is it, young madam?’ ‘I should say so. Jonathan Wild brought him off. 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.
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