Here I am as an alternative either to nasty work—or going home. Water sprung from the corners of the school roof, turning it into a gigantic fountain. 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. ’ Jack blinked at her. Instinct had forced her to create something out of rags to satisfy a mysterious craving.
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