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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. . . Not all of us, but some of us. Mike and Shari sat at the kitchen table eating potato chips. "And you saw all that in your mind?" "It wasn't difficult.
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