Without turning or looking in his direction she leaned forwards, her head supported upon her fingers, her elbows upon her knees. “Yes, I remember,” she 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. Most of the tables were for those who smoked only and drank wine, but there were a few spread with tablecloths and laid for dinner. " "I'll tell you what.
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