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. “We settled long ago—we’re hard stuff. Kneebone's cheeks glowed with rage, and he set down the wine untasted, while Blueskin resumed his song. "Is this Jack Sheppard? Oh, la! I'm undone! We shall all have our throats cut! Oh! oh!" And she rushed, screaming, into the passage where she fell down in a fit. She herself had cut the slender tie that had bound them. I'll wait here.
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