“I don’t see there’s any getting away from the fact that you and I love each other,” he said, slowly. 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. Sir John gave his order, deliberately stumbling now and then over a word, and anglicizing others.
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