‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and helping him convalesce. 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. But where in the world was the girl? A door led to another chamber beyond.
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