He walked unsteadily towards the door. “When one is happy—I don’t like to think of them. “Lady Ferringhall, sir. 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. Not even for Ruth could he do such a beastly thing. ’ ‘Grossly unfair, too.
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