She backed away, amazed as the thing buzzed loudly in the center of the room. 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. Her head swam. If hate could kill, Ramage would have been killed by a flash of hate. They seed beyond all reason.
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