His eyes were small and grey; as far apart and as sly-looking as those of a fox. ‘I am glad it is you, because you can help me. He uttered a short laugh. This smile was more harrowing even than her former rigid look. 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. ’ Roding’s voice changed.
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