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Then began expostulations, preluded by a telegram and headed by her aunt. Man, if you tell her you love her, and later they took you away to prison, who would sit at the prison gate until your term was up? Ruth. 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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