"What's that?—Jack's voice!" "It is," replied her son. "And who taught it you—the landlord, Joe Hind?" "No; one Blueskin, a fellow who frequents the Lion," answered Jack, with a degree of candour that astonished his master nearly as much as his confidence. "Blueskin," said Ireton. Of course, I don't believe she's what you would call flush. She was a trained being—trained by an implacable mother to one end. She helped herself to the remainder of the slightly congealed bacon, and reverted to the problem of getting her luggage out of the house.
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