. . The house was eerily silent, which alerted her to the idea that someone might be listening. 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. " "All right, then. She was now permitted freely to study the face. Ray Plote would not leave a written explanation. ” Sheila snarled. She asked no further questions for the moment.
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