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. His clothes had evidently seen some service, and were plentifully begrimed with the dust of the workshop. “Don’t we all rather humbug about the coarseness? All we women, I mean,” said she. He won’t be in uniform. It’s just to feel—one owns one’s self. You know all this stuff is insured. I can no longer bear to address you by that formal madame. "After all," he said, "this is the safest weapon.
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