They sat in the front row. “We’re here to take your foster daughter down to the station to ask her a few questions sir. 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. She regarded him coldly, as though wondering whether he had anything further to say. "The door!—the door!—death!" he added, as he tried the handle, "it is locked—and I am unarmed.
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