“My mind is full of confused stuff,” he said at length. “Let us sit down for a moment,” he had said. It rather astonished him. “Well anyhow—I don’t see the force of your objection, you know. Men ought not to idealize any woman. I still have a cross stitch she made for me of a little fairy sitting on a daffodil. 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 one of the troubles with young folks: they take themselves so seriously. Drenched to the skin,—in fact, he had been lying in a bed of muddy water,—and chilled to the very bone, he felt so stiff, that he could scarcely move. “There is no time for that.
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