I guess those books are okay because they are fiction. “You wish me to stay?” he asked, in a low tone. 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. . Her bonnet dropped off and was trampled into the gutter.
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