“I knew you wouldn’t mind. 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 are some papers I have to look through to-night—important papers. She then dried her eyes, and laying her child gently upon the floor, knelt down beside him. The biological laboratory had an atmosphere that was all its own. That really settles about that. She put a hand to the lad’s cold cheek and choked on a sob. That same adventurousness that had already buoyed her through crises that would have overwhelmed any normally feminine girl with shame and horror now became uppermost again.
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