” “Excellent,” Sir John declared. "Write as I dictate," he cried, placing a pen in the jailer's hand and a pistol to his ear. " "As you please, Sir," replied the tapstress, coolly. 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 she found herself able to do nothing of the sort.
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