It’s not like we’re getting married. "His wife is still living," returned Kneebone, drily. Lucy sat paralyzed, as still as Tiger Lily on the death raft. 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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