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"My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. " "Thames, I have much to say," said Jack, "much that concerns your safety. Were it not for your voice, I don't think I should know you. Why aren’t you folded up clean in lavender—as every young woman ought to be? What have you been doing with yourself?. His face will be all I need. The swelling in his limbs had also subsided. "I will at once convince you of the truth of my assertions, and ascertain whether the enemy really is at hand. He embraced her fully. 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. “As I love you. " "But you are young!" It was a protest, almost vehement. But threats and entreaties—even promises were ineffectual; and the unlucky captive, after exhausting his powers of persuasion, was compelled to give up the point. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the author. It was a boy baby cooing in swaddling clothes, a baby who had just been born to the butcher's servant across the alley, the maid Isobella who trailed behind, beaming.
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