He righted a chair and sat in it, his face in his hands. 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. At length the manager arrived; and together he and Ruth succeeded in getting some of the aromatic spirits of ammonia down the patient's throat. The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way. "Never—never!" The words were scarcely pronounced, when the door was violently thrown open, and two men appeared at it. " "As an honest Chinaman?"—taking out the offensiveness of the query by smiling.
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