Perhaps the day of her recompense was at hand. 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. His salvation—if there was to be any—lay in her ignorance of life. “Hey sis!” He cried drunkenly. ‘I am not in the least in a rage. If you could see how it gives them souls, women who have taken things for granted, who have given themselves up altogether to pettiness and vanity. She felt sleepy and unusually irritable.
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