From a scout stationed at the northern entrance, whom she addressed in the jargon of the place, with which long usage had formerly rendered her familiar, she ascertained that Blueskin, accompanied by a youth, whom she knew by the description must be her son, had arrived there about three hours before, and had proceeded to the Cross Shovels. She could have kissed Cathy. He seldom spoke, and drank with a persistence that was sinister. ‘You see, unlike you, mademoiselle, your cavalier here would not wish to be arrested. She tried to compose her thoughts, to think of the last six months, to steep herself in the calm beauty of the surroundings.
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