There was no response. He sat back in an easy chair with a hand upon each of the elbows, and looked steadfastly into the fire. ’ ‘Ah, so you did come here to find someone,’ Gerald responded eagerly. 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 begin to understand Jane Austen and chintz covers and decency and refinement and all the rest of it. You climb by disappointing men.
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