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. "How very like it is!" "Not so strange, surely," laughed Thames, "that a picture should resemble the person for whom it's intended. White’s boarding-house in Russell Square. “It’s not.
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