She went to a writing-desk and made some memoranda on a sheet of note-paper, and then remembered that she had no address as yet to which letters could be sent. You have threatened to kill me for nothing, I know not how many times. The world, perhaps, will be educated out of its idea of fixed standards. 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. ” “You see I do. Just an idea of mine.
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