" "Could I credit your wild story, I might do so," returned Thames, with a look of perplexity. “I think,” he said, “I was a little too mystical about beauty the other day. The barmaids had too strongly appealed to his sense of novelty. The doll she had never owned, the cat and the dog that had never been hers: here they were, strangely incorporated in this sleeping man. " "On the contrary, if that is a specimen, they must be poets. Please yourself. "Shall I shoot him?" "Yes! yes! put it to his ear!" cried Mrs. Nothing would induce me to marry you, or any man at present. 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. She looked at the suitcase sadly and stashed it underneath her bed.
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