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. Then he looked towards his granddaughter once more, who had flounced away to the window at her greataunt’s interruption. “You would appear to be trying to destroy a comradeship which has been very, very pleasant. The women’s meeting was much more charged with emotional force than the Socialists’.
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