Even in her painting smock and with her disarranged hair, the likeness between the two girls was marvellous. 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. ‘Word has it that she is English on her father’s side. He spoke English with astonishing facility and with a purity which often embarrassed his tourists. They both listened intently. Spare me yet a little while, Father! not for my own sake, but for the sake of this poor babe. It was locked. .
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