Strange gurgle-like noises emanated from the crypt. At that, the girl jumped up. Gerald frowned. “As things are at present,” she said, “it is true. 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. ” Anna nodded. Want to walk home today? Lucy slipped the paper into her English textbook.
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