Yes!" she screamed, "these are his father's features! It is—it is my son!" "Mother!" cried Thames; "are you, indeed, my mother?" "I am, indeed—my own sweet boy!" she sobbed, pressing him tenderly to her breast. But I'm not worrying about that. Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony.
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