“We are not the sort that goes under,” said Ann Veronica, holding her hands so that the red reflections vanished from her eyes. You see, the horse it does not belong to me, nor to the nuns. 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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