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Annabel thought, and thought again. He hung precariously on the ragged edge, but he hung there. What is the matter with you?” Dunster had withdrawn discreetly. 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. “Thanks to you. He felt his heart beat faster and faster—his self-restraint slipping away.
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