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. The spinsters were not kind; they were only curious because she was odd and wore a dress thirty years out of date. People, nobody, can do as they like in this world. She was consumed by misery and hate.
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