Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow. 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. He drew a little breath of relief. You are restless, aggressive, critical with all the crude unthinking criticism of youth. " "Now for it," thought the woollen-draper, "I shall, at least, ascertain how the land lies.
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