They would arrive sometime in June. 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. Then to the Feathers, in Drury Lane. She threw her arms around Rollo's neck and laid her cheek upon the flea-bitten head.
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