"My sister the wife of one condemned felon! the parent of another! It cannot be. She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. ‘Ain’t my place, I know that. 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.
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