Aren’t I asking—asking plainly now?. 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. Missy looked like a troll with lipstick on. She turned there, clasped her hands behind her back and put up her chin. A paralyzing horror was upon her. “That was a moment of madness,” she said. At this moment, his quick ears detected the sound of footsteps on the stairs.
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