Mr. 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. That’s Italians for you. ‘Parbleu, do you think he will run away? He has a bullet inside him, and it must be taken out.
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