It was an unspoken curfew in the Beck house on week nights. ” “I am really curious,” she persisted. 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. ’ Joan sniffed. It was horrible.
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