I am shockingly poor. Lucy clutched the pencil in defeat. “You frighten me!” He smiled at her indulgently. 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. You were wide the mark, physically; otherwise you had him pat. The voice of the young seaman came floating down from the masthead, and the story of the immortal lovers had begun.
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