‘But only think, Hilary,’ Lucy protested, evidently too involved in her theory to waste time in scolding. Every eye was fixed upon the prisoner. 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. Ruth met him in the hall as he was following his family into the dining room.
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