" "The ways of Providence are inscrutable," observed Wood. "But he can't be far off. Why not? Imagine I’ve had a fit of hysteria—and that I’ve come round. 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. You climb by disappointing men. "Ah!" he exclaimed, as the painting was turned towards him.
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