And at the sight something leaped within her. 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. “No doubt about that, I fancy,” Meddoes answered lightly. Mr. His hands came up, his face broke apart. He squatted and threw his arm around the backs of her knees. Kneebone. The young rascal had learnt from some of the women-servants that Lady Trafford was from home, and was in the very act of making off when I got down stairs. Because here was the haven for which she had been blindly groping: the positive abolition of all her father's rights in her—the right to drag her back. “It’s okay Lucy. He drew her away from this thought.
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