"What's all this?" exclaimed Wood in amazement. 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. The man who came to our rooms, you know, that night was his friend. It seems that he was a sort of family friend of the Pellissiers, and it was the artist sister whom he was with. “You’re Glorious!” said Miss Miniver in tones of rapture, holding a hand in each of hers and peering up into Ann Veronica’s face.
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