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. ” She was silent, and in the gloom of the dimly lit apartment he could not see her face. He shook his head all the time. Once he chuckled aloud. ‘Let’s check the rest of it and then I suppose we will have to break in. Sheila pounded the kitchen table, causing the bell jar with the silk flowers to tip over and roll to the floor. She perceived she had never really thought of any one but herself in all her acts and plans. ” He stood before her, his hat in his hand, his head bent, his voice lowered to a convenient pitch. .
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