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 arm about her was steel hard, and she felt the weapon that was placed at her heart, which thumped uncomfortably in her chest. "Right to a farthing. The dress of the dwarfish Jew was not, however, favourable to this expedient. But if I escape, my gratitude—" "Pshaw!" interrupted Jonathan, scornfully.
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