“Don’t be an ass, Ferringhall,” he said tersely. Ramage, I came here—I didn’t suppose for one moment you would dare —” “Nonsense! That is your mistake! You are too intellectual. Bring your liveralong?" "I sometimes wonder if I have any—if it isn't the hole where it was that aches. “You know,” he muttered, “you know quite well that your troubles are far more likely to weigh upon me than my own. 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.
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