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13 with a latchkey went humming lightly up to her room. His hand flew across the paper. After an affectionate parting with Winifred, Thames was conducted by the carpenter to his sleeping apartment—a comfortable cosy chamber; such a one, in short, as can only be met with in the country, with its dimity-curtained bed, its sheets fragrant of lavender, its clean white furniture, and an atmosphere breathing of freshness. " "At least state your charge. "You hay'n't hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously. 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. She looked up, and recognized Mr. . Papa doesn't even care, but he just goes along with whatever my Mom says.
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