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"Oh, lud! what's that?" exclaimed a female voice, from an adjoining room. 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. " "And you want me to find a minister?" she asked, with ready comprehension. ‘And I do not know why you are so polite, when you have been bad to me last night, and have taken my dagger. Come, come, be reasonable, and listen to me. A shaft of searing heat plunged downward.
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