She remembered him as a dull figure, a big man with a belly that was already showing fat under his fine scarlet clothes. 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. “I suppose he’s frightfully clever,” said Miss Klegg. Yet she held her tongue. Shall we say at half-past seven?” She rose from her chair. Giles's was lined with spectators.
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