“Was I that bad?” He asked. Gerald lifted an eyebrow. 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. And, by way of checking his housekeeper's familiarity, he pointed significantly to the table. “I believe that you are right,” he said softly.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 09-09-2024 17:36:51
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