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 marvelled at his apparent imperviousness to the heat. ‘And then vanished into thin air,’ rejoined Hilary on a sardonic note. ‘Merely making a useful contact. I know now that I was mistaken. .
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