“No, I’m fine. 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. So, at least, thought one of two persons who were seated together in a small back-parlour of the house at Dollis Hill. After all, it is not long since that a Catholic nun in this country would have had to remain in hiding.
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