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. For hats that fail and hats that flare; Toppers their universal wear; A man scores always, everywhere. Excuse me an instant while I dismiss this person. Mirrors.
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