"Don't you know me, mother?" "Ah!" shrieked Mrs. " "It is folded under your pillow. 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. Wood; "I can't for an instant question such distinterested testimony. “YOU wouldn’t like to be independent?” he asked, abruptly.
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