A slow anger burned in the man. ’ He thought a wary look came into her face, but it was difficult to be sure. Kneebone. One night, she drew close to him in bed, trying to warm herself by embracing his back. She wanted to know. 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.
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