These were the Master's body-guard. However, no one had discovered me, so I contrived to drag myself to my horse. 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. Once over the iron spikes, Bess exhibited no reluctance to be let down on the other side of the wall.
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