" "But not for me," growled Terence, in an under tone. Wood, reproachfully, as they returned to the parlour. 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. He had more time for her. “Now,” he said, quietly, “it’s time we stopped this nonsense.
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