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. For although I must confess it reads very much like an application or a testimonial or some such thing as that, I can assure you I am writing this in fear and trembling with a sinking heart. His red hair marked him, cut short into a round shape that had the texture of a Brillo pad. Even her memories of he who had frequented her life for the longest period of years were worn and fading. To her intense disappointment, she discovered that all papers had been removed from desks and cupboards. ‘How fascinating.
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