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. ‘No need to shake in your boots,’ Gerald said soothingly. Melusine ripped at the buttons of the garment, dragging it open and away, and gasped at the massive red stain on his shirt. .
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