Days later, Sebastian found her by the lake, sobbing. 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, fearing you might not come to me, I forced my way hither, even with certainty of discomposing your friends.
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