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. " "He'll be hanged nevertheless," replied the Hollander, giving his collar an ugly jerk. Her husband sat in a chair beside her bed, his head in his hands. " "There, now! You mustn't get mixed. ‘Dolt! Muttonheaded oaf! Why the deuce couldn’t he have sent you home?’ Valade cut in at that. Each was draped in transparent silk, dancing, beckoning to me, teasing me. These realizations rushed into Ann Veronica’s mind and hardened her heart against him.
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