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The face of the man who lay there was clearly visible. “I ought to look up Gwen,” she said. Roused by the bell tolling for evening service, Jack left the house. “The real reason why I am out of place here,” she said, “is because I like men. His course, however, was no longer interrupted, and he crept on. He had absorbed her in a single glance, and was now defining her as he worked. "I find I was in error. He growled in his throat and, thrusting his coat open, revealed his own buckled sword-belt. 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. She struggled against it quite uselessly.
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