‘But do you think I can blame you for this, Marthe?’ ‘I blame myself. "Mother! dear mother!" cried Jack, folding her to his breast. 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. All RNs were familiar with blood stains.
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