‘The truth is, Everett,’ she said brightly, limping up to the general and tucking a hand in his arm, ‘that the girl is you all over again. I am engaged to sing every evening at the ‘Unusual’ music hall. You see, I—I am a woman worshipper. But are we any more free?” “Well?” “I mean we’ve long strings to tether us, but we are bound all the same. She could hardly remember his face except for his brown hair, thick lips, and narrow dark eyes. 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.
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