" There was a roaring in her ears like that of angry waters. The evening was warm and inviting, one meant to be spent outdoors. 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. ‘There is Bernadette, Marie-Thérèse, Marie-Joséphine, Marie-Claire, Henriette—’ Exasperated, Gerald seized her by the shoulders. The cook tried to ply her with spiced meat and fish soup. No Cantonese was in those days permitted to cross to the Sha-mien after sunset without a license. About halfway across this interval, when everything seemed going well, Capes had a shock.
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