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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. ’ ‘Merci,’ she sighed and, surrendering at last to his oft-proffered aid, allowed her head to droop onto his chest. He found that the skiff had been dashed against one of the buttresses of the bridge. Being a Chinaman in blood and instinct, he despised all spinsters; they were parasites. But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of something more vital wandered about his mind. “I think,” he said, “I was a little too mystical about beauty the other day.
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