" She wanted to dance. works. 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. The old woman told him she had no such article to dispose of, but recommended him to a neighbouring blacksmith. Ruth crossed over to the dramatist of this tragicomedy and put a hand on his shoulder. "Hoddy, Hoddy!… No, no! This is my father!" warned Ruth.
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