He wasn't satisfied with an assured income from the paper-mills your grandfather left us. I couldn't accept anything from you. It would have been better had he succeeded in murdering her, she thought. “I opened my eyes, and she was bending over my bedside. We just want to ask her a few questions about an old murder case. 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.
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