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. "If you won't disclose your name, I will for you! You are Jonathan Wild!" "Further concealment is needless," answered the other, pulling off his wig and black patch, and resuming his natural tone of voice; "I am Jonathan Wild!" "Say you so!" rejoined Kneebone; "then be this your passport to eternity. There is no further hope. It appeared from what he said that he had been captured when asleep,—that his liquor had been drugged,—otherwise, he would never have allowed himself to be taken alive. Gerald would not marry her even with a dowry. She turned towards the door, and had taken a pace towards it when it was flung open.
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