‘Indeed?’ Gerald grinned. 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. I've seen him often do it. The rest was easy. Gerald stayed him. Love-making at first hand is dull enough. . Spurlock stepped into the room.
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