When he returned from pissing, he sat down with her. 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. Because here was the haven for which she had been blindly groping: the positive abolition of all her father's rights in her—the right to drag her back.
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