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. It was neither good nor bad. But did Gerald trouble himself about her? No. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. Only promise me this. She saw his eyes glaze over. Had it not been for the Plague, she might have had her own babies. ” “Only you won’t let me live. What else was there lurked in shadows and deep places; if in some mood of reverie it came out into the light, it was presently overwhelmed and hustled back again into hiding. A strong arm pulled her closer, and the lips that mouthed her own in tender touches sent her senses reeling. CHAPTER XIV. He'll be able to help us a little now. She could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer.
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