E. 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. Somewhere, where we can talk without interruption. It jars with all my ideas. You keep on coming truer, after you have seemed to come altogether true.
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