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. ‘What in the world is that?’ demanded Miss Froxfield. He would always be her friend, too. He pumped as she raised her legs obediently. Her canines had receded, but were still 166 prominent. The day was sunny and pleasant, devoid of chill winds.
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