"What are you waiting for?" asked Jack, impatiently. 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. I'll speak to McClintock to-night and see if he won't take us for a junket on The Tigress.
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