An old man and a young girl, the one as stubbornly offensive as the other. “Did he tell you, Annabel?” “Yes. “How will you live?” she appealed. Sure of foot, noiseless, he made the veranda and paused at the side of one of the screened windows. You poor man, what have you been doing to yourself?” “Nothing except travelling all night,” he answered. " There was a momentary and terrible silence, broken only by a few feeble groans. I must tell somebody—and you would understand. "And there you're right, you may dipind, marm," observed Terence. 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 don’t care.
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