It was bad luck to go to Canongate. Her father held some printed document in his hand, and appeared not to observe her entry. Vorsack sauntered into the room, sporting her usual toothy thin254 lipped grin. 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. And let us go on with our evening. Quite ordinary. ‘I dropped the lantern,’ Jack’s muffled voice told her. Her depression since the “accident” had possessed her, she no longer cared how she looked as her beauty helped her not.
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