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" "But not for me," growled Terence, in an under tone. 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. ” “I cannot do it!” he cried hoarsely. I was forced to lay on a bed of nails for three days. It was a port of call, since fortnightly a British mail-boat dropped her mudhook in the bay.
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