‘And I do not know why you are so polite, when you have been bad to me last night, and have taken my dagger. This, then, was the woman from whom Hoddy would not have accepted a cup of water. You need fear no interruption from him, or any of his myrmidons. 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.
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