Then she passed from the room on the arm of General Lord Charvill, chatting animatedly to him. “Bad hemorrhage,” he said. 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. And girls and women, perhaps, are different. The both of them puttering about the tidy two-story house, Lucy would serve them both steaming cups of tea in the front parlor.
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